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op THE 








ADmOB O' "rtxnm bibtoit," " inBTOBr^r,*^ inimD m 





III 1 

Entered according to Act of Congresa, in the year 1872, bj 

Habfbr & Bbothbr», 

In the Office of the Librarian of Congjesa, at Washington. 



Tub present work— which is the Sxth in nninber, and the highest^ of the 
United States Series ot Headers— has been prepared with special leferance 
to Bhetorical and Elocntion&iy Instmctioii, through the raediam of tjie 
reading leseoiu which it embraces. 

If we Btodj Natoi^, the oulj tma gnide to a correct elocution, wa shall 
find (hat all the essenlioU of good reading and Bpeating, snch as the time, 
tbeybrce, the fntcA, the anphasu, the qmantits and gaalitg of the tones, and 
the infitctima — all, in fine, that go to make np txprtanon — raij, in tha thon- 
suid tbades of meaning which thej picture forth, according to the character 
of what is read or spoken ; for a troe elocution is the Tiatmal expression, in 
words, of thonghts, sentiinents, and feelings. 

In piain namttioQ and description, and in writings pnrelf didactic, in 
which emotion bears no port, the principles and rules of expression are few, 
tiniple, and eas^ ; bat tha writings, eren in these three departments, are 
vet; fbw into which emotional appeals do not enter ; ajid, when we pass be- 
yond the verj plunest kind of prose compontion, we find fignies Of speech 
and figures of thought, which are intended to gire force, expression, orna- 
ment^ and grace to sQrle, scattered in endless profusion diroughout all lan- 
guage. If we know not the nKDninp of such figures, hotr shsU we be cer- 
tain that wa give to them their proper expression? If tbej are real]; the 
chief exponents of the thoughts and fbelingt designed to be expressed b; 
written language, we ma; well ask, what thoughts and feelings are the; in- 
tended to express? And as the; are all based npontrul; philosophical prin- 
ciples in human natnre, it becomes those who would nse them aright — that 
is, who would either read or write imderitamdiiigfy — to know what their fun- 
dstnftntfll principles are. 

Id the Fi/th Reader we were careful to introduce reading lessons that 
contsined numerons esamples of the raoie prominent figures of speech 
and of thought, such as the Bimile, Allegory, Personificadon, Apostrophe, 
etc, with such brief explanations of them, and of other principles of fignra. 
tive langoage, as we thought adapted to pnpils of the class for whom Ibat 
Beader was intended, designing thus to prepare the wa; for the present 
more systemadc elucidation of the whole subject. In the present work we 
haTB aimed to take up, in their natoral order, the leading kinds of com- 
position as the; are affected b; fignrotiTe language. Hrace Narrative, De- 
scriptiTe, and Didactic writings are briefi; explained, and reading lessens in 
them ara first introduced, inasmuch as these diree departments stand in the 

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same raUtion to all written language that tlie foor fiindamental rntes in 
Arithmetic hold to. all Matbematicg. The Correct Daee of Words and the 
" Origin of Figurative Langnage" are next cooEidered, and the natural oat' 
growth of fignrea of speeat is shown from inherent principles in language. 
Then follow, in separate divisions, brief explana^ns of tbese flgores, with 
namerouB illnetrations, aod separate reading lessons under each head, em- 
bracing Interrogation and Exclamation, as Figures of Thought; Simile; 
Allnsion; Metaphor; Antithesis; Allegory and Fable; Hyperbole; Ridi- 
cule, Wil, Satire, and Irony ; Personification; Apostrophe; Vision; Dia- 
logue ; Kepelitioo, elc. Tben fbllow brief disquisitions upon the Eloquence 
of Popular Assemblies, the Bar, and the Pulpit, with illustratiTs reading 
lessons onder each. The principles of Poetical Composition are next ex- 
plained and illostrated, and Miscellaneous Examples cloee the volume. 

Although the space that coold be devoted to tbe»e subjects in a Beading 
Book of the present size is neceeaarilj very limited in proportion to what 
their importance woold demand in any thing like a full exposition of their 
principles, yet it will probably be thought sufficient br the class of pupils 
for whom this work is intended, inasmuch as it baa been snfflcient to enable 
nB to introduce a very great varielg in the reading lessons. Indeed, the 
Plak itself almost necessarily requires a far greater variety of superior se- 
lections, illustrative of the scope of our language, than would be likely to 
gain admission into any other kiud of Heading Book. And while our lead- 
ing purpose has been to give tbe most appropriate lessons in reading, they 
are arranged on a basis that will certainly teach tometkrag of the structure 
of the language, and at the same lime do much to develop its rhetorical and 
elocutionary principles. In (his we have carried out the original design 
which has characterized all our Headers ; which was, while making tbe 
subject of good reading paramount to all others, to make the reading les- 
sons at the same time tbe vehicle of aa much usefiil information as possible^ 
In the present work, tbe subjects introduced, instead of confining that in- 
fbnnation to lessons upon charBCter, and morals, and dnty, and sdence, and 
nsefd knowledge in general, extend it to the principles of Bbbtobic, C^tin- 
ciBH, Eloqubncs, and Obatort, as applicable to both prose and poetiy, 
and as Ulnstrated by the best models of En^isb compositun. 

We have endeavored also to extend the utility of tbe reading lessons in 
other respects : first, by such explanatoiy notes as may be needed to g^ve to 
each selection a degree of completeness in itsdf; and, secondly, by continu- 
ous selections, when practicable, bearing upon one subject, as may be seen 
in tbe divisions endtled "Eloquence of Popular Assemblies," "The Bar," 
" Tbe Pulpit," etc. In fine, with Iheprinciples oi good readittg as the basis, 
we have endeavored to crowd into the work aa much iHSTfincnoN aa onr 
limited space and tbe wide range of subjects would allow. 

r:,,r.=^i by Google 



L Minor QnRlitles or style il 

n. Tbe ElemenU of touI Sxpreulon i Helodj lil 

m. Geaeral Principles which gorem th* lUftacUona, and RdI«s for thelt 

AppUrallon it 


L Narration and Description Adipted. SG 

n. ThePnnlihineiitoraLUr BitHt. -K 

III. TheDiruf andtbeOlsDt Oolmhith. n 

BnbUme Description BMe. SO 

tv. A good InTestmenC Fbiuuh Hdht. SI 

V. Tht BaMiitf Btenhtliiif BounT SolmiKT. 89 

VL TbeKDlght,tbeHetMt,uidtheHui T.S.AarHin. 81 


Tn. Principles and Beanties of DescHption Adspled. 43 

VnL A Fauptr't Fwnena Procitsb. M 

IX Athens bj Moonlight "Ma«i Twaib." M 

X, Tht Bout itf PraiitT Viotob Hono. 4T 

XI. The Cathedral at MlUn "M«bk Twaih.- 48 

XII. Barbara FrUlehU J.Q. Wuittiik. D3 

Xin. Tlu Pauper't Drivt TnoHAS Kon. BB 

XIV. Oro*thofCallfonila P.P.Txior. ES 

XV. Tht (M OaaOnimdl: HIIutbl eS 

XVI. ATankeaDael "QKUit QunwooD." M 

XVll TA.fioc*dors Anon. SB 

DaeriptioB nf Bnaitng—Wttt. DaerifU'm itf Sight Ynimo. M 

XVIII. Dmsri^tioiKif Kinemb€T Hood, fli 


XIX Character of Didactic Wrttlnga Adapted. «9 

XX. PrecsDtlve Passages '. 70 

L HegatlTe Commands (KMe) ; IL DecUratorr PreceplB (fifMi) : IIL 
InstrnctlTe AdTice: IV. luatracUon : Sndnring Records (D. Web- 

XXl. BatU SoU-Bat Nil .......GbEnn. TB 

XXII. On Character Shilh. 74 

XXIIL To^a^midTo^BuiTToa C»»PEJr™B! Cottoh. TT 

XXrV. OnStudiea Lon> Baooh. 78 

XXV. ThtTito Weaten Hahhau Uohi. SO 

Abidk^RUha Maetui„ Si 


XX VL Sdection and Use of Words Adapted. SS 

XXVn. What in Worda IitdicaU J. (1. Hou-asd. 8S 

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SXVtn. Origin and Uu or ElgnretiTeLan^nBge Adapted. W 

TnlgfirlBDi Id Lui£aAgo.----..'^.-.----'----'^--------CDEHTBiriiLD. W 

XXIX. Bxpratim in Reading Llots. M 

XXX. Huolet'B loitniElian to the Fiajan Siuunui. Vt 

Omnrjotfpn >8 


\;tM. iDlemigitlon and Szdamntlcii] aa FlgareBoTTboagbt Adapted. M 

Qod'a Wisdom and Power, and Man's Weakness and Ignorance .BiWt loa 

The opening oTClcero'sflrsl Speech against Catllloe Cioibo. 108 

YTYTT. TU OanMer-i Wift CaiTia. 104 

XXXm, ThtOnun KxBuiaw. 10« 

XXXIV. ObHgaUorjofAmerica to England B-Brnnr. 108 

XXXV. Great Britain's Right to Tai America B.B<iaKC IM 

XXXTL Pampering the Bod; and Starring ihe Sonl E.Evnnr. 110 


XSZVn. Hatare and Uses of Comparisons Adapted. Ill 

SporU of ilie/ailen AngtU , Uiltoh. IIB 

XXXniL Beantlftil and appropriate Similes lU 

I. Fraternal Concord (fifMc) ; II. The Hinds of tbeAged ; UI. Om- 

cedltA Lovt (Sdakspubi) ; IT. Pi^ agitatti viith Doabtt <Pak- 

Hii,!.) \ T. Lrm itMCmdial (Gsakspbabe) ; VL llie HoTements of 

t Ban Jan's Soul (Cbuiu) i TIL Dath of Bmr)/ Ktrtt WMti <Bt- 

bohI i vm. msrOiiin/agh in Bame [Addibob). 

XZZIX. TheCliildandthtDeiiidnpa J. S. GAaranm. 119 

XL. The Cmvici Ship T.K.Hn™T. IM 

XLL The Life Fleet Adapted, £clseUi Jfa^nzAu. US 

XUI. Similes of Homan Lira ISS 

L Tht Hfs c(/Jfiin{BuDKOHT)i TLBvccation BfBviman Bringif 
lU. Death 0/ U« rotwiff and Fair; IV. Ttte PJ^W cf Time; T. 
Time TiBt to be ncaUti ; VLDtaihliimt a Ihtnkig Mart (iouso); 
TIL The Stream of Life (Hibib}. 

XLin. Character of Altnalau Adapted. 118 

IX. zo;taphor8. 

XLIT. Metaphorical Langaage Adapted. Itl 

XtV. Biamplee of Metaphor 1 jt 

L The Oratai7 of the Andenta (BaocsHAn) : II. Poetry la a Dark 
Am (BainfrwBft Rnrieai) : TH. The Sonth American KepBbllca [D. 
Wanta) ; IV. Banker Hill Honament (D. Webbteb) ; V. Life 
on BmMem of a Day (Anon.) ; VL Human Life a V<^/age at Sea 
(Sbuesfkabi] ; VIL JTie Saul (H. Mota) ; Till. Halrina's OrieT 

XLTl Meti^horiBalPi^xn Banj. Fbahklik IBs 

XLVn. WhatiiUfet. J.MieoHQooD. ISR 

' XLTIIL Sowini 


XLIX. Cbaricler of Antllheala Adapted. V 

L. BriefKiampleeof AntlthBslB H 

I. Description ofPompey (Oioiao) , IL Woridlj and HeaTenlr Wis- 
dom (ObBLUB}i ULThe Bible (Has. Blub); IT. Hornet and 

■ ii,Gi:H)(^Ie 


Virgil compared {Adduom) ; T, Cowper and ThomBon compared 
(Pbot.Wiuoh) : VI. Catiline and hie Conepintora (Ciouo) ; Vll. 
Blwlarlc and Logic. 

LL nie Sonaet tABd RiT. Johh Todd. US 

LIL Bank and Bitum Anon. IM 

UIL TactmdTBl«D( ISO 

LIV. Toon and Qmalrtl CmiHiHaBAH. ISt 

LT. Lift'tBauiUt ....Port. IB* 

LVL DiTdca and Pope SamraL Johhboh. UE 

LVIL Chattuun and Burke Hulitt. UE 

LVni. Discretion aodCnnnlns Adduoh. IW 

LIX. The Ittfidd andOit CMtitm Cowna. lOI 


LX. Character or the AUegory Adapted. 1B9 

IXL Brief Bxamplee of Allegory 1(0 

L anutancytHAnnnrPuos)! II.ThaPeopleoflaraal aEBVtne 
IBOiU) : m. Wledom'a Call {BOU) ; TV. The Honae or Israel aa 
■ Vineyard IROU) : V. 7Aa Blatt at o diatMot SMp (Saaa- 
BPnai) i VL Civil Liberty (Mioantai). 

LXn. TheVailey ofAldann Bdlvee. ICa 

LXin. The Prodigal Son BibU. 1ST 

LXIV. The Treee thai dealred a Elog BOU. 1«8 

LSY. TtnOourd and lit Pain. A Fable ITO 

liXVL LocomotlTe and Tea-luUle. A Fable ITO 

A Tta-Mite Lyrie ITl 

LXVIL The Poppy and the Daley M»urt Bout: ITS 

LXVUL ThelnaectaofanHoTir. AFable Adapted. ITS 

LZUL Enipnae, or Riddlee in 

I. Wardt (Mm. BaBBatan) ; IL TU Letl^ A ; TU. Tht Word Oira 
(CAMNUia) ; IT. Tht Letter B (Biboh) ) V. The Riddle of the 

LXX. Charades 180 

Onthe Pott Campb^ W-U-pBaaD. ISO 


LI2I. Character of Hyperbole Adapted. 1S1 

LXXn. Brief BiampleB of Hyperbole IBl 

L Ood'B Promise to laraet (G{U<) : IL The Sai/tntu of Ommn . 
(Viwiil) : m. DMi7T]>(ion<!/<i£a(lI<(Pori'eHoi»B)i IV. StOtm't 
DapaiT {Miltdh) : T. The KoitheaiC Wind ; VL dtopalra (n 

ter Barge (SnAxepiaBa). 

LXXIII. atyitfthiWetl IM 

LXXIV. The a/met O.W.Houiia. IBB 

LZXV. A Dream Iff Ltaar]/ BlHJaiiaoir. 1ST 


LXSVI . Character and Forme of Wit Adapted. 18S 

LXSVIL Fiiiher Land ani Botlier Timgue Sutcu LoTta. IM 

LXXVIIL The Proud Mie> MiuBrile J.aSiia. IH 

i. TTtT . The Wser and hie Three Bone OoLnwiTB. IW 

LXXX. FaiMiet SiUy Orav THoiua Hood. tOO 

LZXXL Br.Kiiiody Ml 

LXXXIL TheBoyt O.W.Hoimib. SOB 

An Irlehman'e Wit .' SM 

r.TmTT A Chapter of EplgramB t05 

APlatnii^I^UaphonjatephaaelM Bnoit. MW 


LXXXIV. Charfieter otPereoniflMtion Aflsptei SOI 

I Tht Alpt PeTtomfiid (Btbon); 11. Slander Pirtoniflei (Suik- 
BreABE): HL Natural RellglaD Psrsaoified (Shielooe); 17. 
Bsnli and Ntitnie PeiBoaiHad (Miltoh) ; V. Ste'i Aidrem to 
Paradiie QUi'-TOi): VI. rfc« /te*m(««i (Pon). 

tXSXT. AddltloDsl XiunpleB of FenonUcatloa Adapted. !11 

L Philosophy and Reltgian : II. The Belgn of Justice (Siiikr 
Bbiih) i lU. Unkindnea (Bdhnb) ; IV. jrti(mW«u(l* denrribtd 
___^ . (Su^KSPiaBEj ; V. King Benry'i Addnu to SUep (Smnpaui). 
LXXXVL I%<A>ti«r«rj(niK)rv Boemis. >1S 


UOCXVII. Character or Apoatiopbe Adapted. !M 

!.TbeNatat«orMaD(R.W.HAi(iLTOH)i II. Suloey on Left^W 
(K.Eraarrr); III. OsBlaD'e Address to tho Moon {MThimon). 

tXXXVin. Ms <o iXsoMWfntmnK H. K.Wbitj. !1T 

LXXSIX. "It does Move."— Galileo K;E»»b«t. ai» 

XC. Additional Exaraplea of Apostrophe «tO 

L .ddibvM fs Us OMon (Bibor) i IL Addre— to a Omul [B. Br- 

XCL JV(mi(As"PI«o»ii«»rirfll]p«" Caupbiu. SD 


XCH. Character orDlalogae and Sollloqny Adapted. SSS 

L SetBt from Othtlto (Shaibpuii) ; II. The XuHvg nf FUz 
Jama and Buderiek DKu {W. Soan) ; III. From Cicero*! Ora- 
tion for Hnnena (Cioino) ; IV. From Cicero's Oration for Hllo 
(CioiEo)! V. What Good will the Monument do! (E.Bveb- 
ptt) ; VI. Ffllstaff's Sollloqny npon Honor (8u*asi-B*ai) ; VII. 
Jossph and his Brethren l,BibU). 

XCIIL Mrs. Candle's Umbrella Lecture Wh. Dodslab Jcbedld. S») 

XCIV. HaaM'sSelHeqaumDtaai SUASBrun £83 

XCV. TA* fiisAflw's SjWoju!/ SM 

xvn. VISION. 

ZOTL Cbaraeter of VIsloD Adapted, nt 

L Cicero agalnat CatiUns (Cioino) ; II. Bnnyan In Prison 
(OmiTiB) ; III. The Eagle (Da. Hopkibs} ; IV. Voysge of tba 
HayHower (Evxam) ; V. Fate of the Adveatarera (ETtsiTT) -. 
VL The Mayflower and the FUgtima <CniEvn). 

XCVn. The Dying aiadlalor Byrm; UovrmitTiT. UI 

XCVra. MaebttKaViXm Srnsftnttx. !U 

ModlflcatloDB of Vision tM 

L The FrogresB of Hind ; IL Newton's Attlluuunta. 


XCIX. Uharsctflr of Bepetltion Adapted. MS 

L LamtM iif OrpKtu* (Vibsil) : IL PaUttiau (PtEiPOHT) ; UT. 
The Bible : IV. laTectlre agalnet Anthony (Ciono) \ V. Bet 
b> .idoM (Un.'niOt VI. The Value of Science (HiBim Sfik- 
oBi^ ; VIL Banker Bill Honameat (Wssma}. 

■ ii,Gi:H)(^Ie 

C. DoJbrethertfJlaiauBeaniiotd»/rirtMi Scam*. MS 

a. Sutml Bugli Song T«shtboh. ISO 

CIL IngnUtndeartbeUolODieB .- Bulk t91 

CIIL A Laim wOftk Enthrining IGS 

CIT. TnlntfaeCblldren Dtt^ton. Wi 


CV. CluuMlerofCliniMiiidAntl-CUmiir Adiptcd. S5< 

Qnlndliu.- Cicero; Dcmonthc 

I. Oar Coonti; (Wunu) ; II 


cm. NUnn oTElDqiinm, and Beqnlillea of ui Ontor Ad^>t«d. ttl 

CVin. Sbeildan'a Retail upoD Pllt Shuioui. «6 

CXI2. ImpeachmeaC oF Wurea Hastings Bokkij HioinuT. !M 

ex. Borke'l ansl Speech an tbe Trill Bdhel Ml 

CXL Sheridaa's Part In lb e Impeacbmenl Bad Trial «1 

L IncldenU of the Trial (ddnpled) : II. The Plea of SUte Nacec- 
■II7 (SauiDiH) ; til. The Deeoladon or Onda <Siieudih) ; W. 
Knnody m Iht Deatli iif SktriOan (BiaoH). 

CZn. Rendt of the Trial HAatuuT; Adapted. «n 

CXm. Webster and Hajne Wravm: Adapted. STt 

XCrv, BBcoDdSpeechomr.HaTne Hinra. Sift 

CXV. IntrodDCtiirTta WebBter'a leeoud Speed! Adapted. ISO 

Mr.Webeler'B Biordlnm Vauana. !S0 

CXVL Webiler'B second Speech WaaaiaB. m. 

CSvn. The Impreaeion made by WebMer'a Speech Hauib. SM 

Mr. Webster-a Peroration Waaam. 188 

CXVllI. The perfect Orator Snaamui. tS6 


OZIX Nature or the Sobjeet, and Beqnltllea tor nsaodLawjar.. Adapted. ISI 
CXX. The laane betireen Parties at Law, and the HaoBKement of a Case. 

Adapted, ni 

CZXL The Trial of Robert Emmet >B8 

Prom the Attomej General's Speech iW 

ox™. Extract (torn Enunet'i Speech Shhct. SH 

CXXm Patrick Henry's drat Speech Wh.Wiit. »T 

Carloaa Coinddences Mt 

CXXIT. Ban and Blennerhaaeett Wh.Wibt. HO 


CXIVl Nature oftheSnblect Adapted. 808 

CXXYIl. The Sniula' Rest RiOH*BDB*itB«. 811 

CXXVIIL ™« ViUagt Frtaetier OoLnanmt 818 

CXSIS. The Cool Preacher Bm-wa. SM 

CXXS. Bonrdaloae before the King Bonaa. 81S 

CXXXI Who ihall be saved MisaituiM. BIT 

CZXXIL The Blind Preacher Wn.Wiar. SI9 

A 2 

n,<jr.=^-h, Google 

CXXXm. Tht Pt^/ptt Oraurr His-Welbt. Ssit 

CXXZIV. Splrltnsl Freedom WilSllibt CiuMiiiNa. SS9 

CXXXV. WbltOeld'B Freachliig B.Fbuieliii. BSS 

CZXXVI. I AJaMtJ onin iht Fviptt {Cowrai) ; IL HaeBlUoa M the Funeral 

ot Louie ziv. aas 


CXXXVU. NatoreandKloasorPoeWy.....' Adaptefl. BBI 

jfoM /«i«(To«sn« tta-aao 

CZXXVm. iMjr«rcnt JTcoauTM i(/i\iMrv Btobt: Houoa. SSS 

fitTTTTg qp«nfn(riSIatLca(^(A<JHtu(r»l Biattii. SB5 

CXL. ^lamnitor'i Featl DaTiim. SM 

OXLL Scene fromtbe Clonda Adapted. S40 , 

L AOdrett to Ibi Ciauda {Aaiaronunis} j U. 3^ CAonu,in B^ 

( TVT.TT . ThePatrioac Dead CeUini; Mohtoouirt. B4a 

CXLIU. Charge of the Light Brigade (1.) Rcbbeli. S43 

CXL17. Chargt of On Light Brigade !Xi.) TiMNieoK. £46 

CXLV. Charge nf the Light Brigede (lU.) JiHm Buian Bora. HI 

CXLVI. ITie Leeaon Taught ts/ the CIviTgt Tunoh. 3tS0 

Ooir Doty BSO 


CXLVn. BidgrammatLi: Belections SGI 

1. The Three Initials \ IL An Anagram : UI. JohnBon's Style ; 

IV. Lord Brongham ; T. Bins Ink i Vt Miuealint and Fcmi- 
nfnti VII. Walmiinatr Bridge; VUL A BUblime Pnn. 

CXLVnL Moral and Hellglons SOT 

I. Gbd'a Low to ai (aaiym) ; II. He (itw* Ion; aho Itaet imS 
(RumoLpn): IIL Nov and Tbeu; IV. Camcimce (Jcvdcil): 

V. Consolallona of the Ooapel (Alixahbbi) i VI The Clirla- 
tlan'9 Death (Dawn). 

CXLIX. SothingatailintheFttfutTo-Ml B» 

OL. Which thailH bet SM 

CLL The Bridge of Sight Hooo. S» 

CLIL The Spaeiout IHrmamenl A.Uaet«. B60 

CUIL Time: an AlUgory 881 

CLIV. Beacriptlie and Dldactle S«a 

I. Peeiilenae and Cmiaglan ■pttamified; IL Different CondlUonB 
In Lite: m. Stonirffy q^lAi Pwrr ; IV. A Contrast ; V. i>ilKE(fon 
(CaiaoH) ; VL The IVu^ Qreal, CWins) ; VIL Aiirm to the 
J)ri<IF{BowaiHoti VIILWoodland.Mndc<J.aTaoiii'»BiDGi). 

CLV. YinthandAge WoBnawoETH. Ses 

CLVl. PatriollHin: Lots of CoBnUy and of Soma Sae 

I. The Ship of State (HaiiaY W. I,oM9?j!i.iow} ; IL Our Conntry 
{Gamaa) ; in. J*M (iT Oiunfn; (W. Soon) ; IV. Low (y" Oiim- 
try and of Bone (MoimioimY) ; V. Otir CowUtt/ / 'tit a gtort- 
out Land (W. J. Pabodh) ; VL Union and LOerty {Qmrna) i 
vn. lAc Ccnnon'* Palhtrland (Abhdi). 

Index to Kamea otAnttiors... 

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Aa the Higher QnctUtieB of Style, embraced in the prin- 
ciples of what is called Figurative Language, are fully 
explained and largely illustrated throughout the present 
work, we shall wholly omit that subject here, and com- 
mence with a brief exposition of those Minw QuaiUies of 
Style by which individual writers and speakers are more or 
less distinguished. 


The style of a writer or speaker may be hold, nervous, 
stiff; abrupt, weak or feeble, simple, affected, pure or chaste, 
florid, concise, diffuse, or bombastic, etc. 

A Bold s^Ie IB one in which both th« thought and the msaner are bold 
and startling, and In which the [iiiiiciplea advanced are carried out to thdr 
legitiniate resolts. 

A Herrona or forcible style Is one that it ehBTacterized bj vigor and en- 
er^ of manoer and thonght — a atjle that makes a deep and lasting impres- 

A Stiff or formal style is one that ia harsh, conetruned, not nataral and 
sasj ; corre«p<mding to the stifT and formal in behavior. 

An Abrupt style is one in which the sentences are short and abrupt, and 
the thoughts appear to be unconnected — in which there are sadden changes 
&om one subject to another. 

A Weak or feeble style is one which ia commonplace in manner and mat- 
ter, and that haa little power to arrest the attention or excite the feelings. 

A Sn^lB style is Mie in which there is little apparent labor, and no at- 
tempt at any thing but merely to be understood ; but it is not puerile and 
cliildish. Some of the best descriptions of Irving are notable for their great 
rinipficitjf of style. 

A Pare or chaste style is one that uses pure and correct English ; a style 
that avoids the use of obsolete words on the one hand, and of newly-coined 
and foreign words on the other. (See p. 84.) 

An ASMted style — the opposite of a simple style— is one that ia given to 
blse show— p. pretentioag style. It ia a st^le that makes great pretensioiiB, 
with but &m conesptaidiiig remits. 

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A Florid Btjie is one in nUch there is great profusion of ornament, an 
over-abundance of figurative language. It shows an obvious desire to pro- 
dace effect; a fondness for the pomp and parade of language. 

A Coneifa sC^le is one in which a writer or speaker expresBeB his thonghta 
in few words, without drcnmJocation, and with little omameuL It is a 
Btjle which retrenches all mperflttities, and marks the diatiDCt and accurate 
writer. It is precision in language, 

A DifftH or loose stjle — which characterizes a prolix writer— is a stjle 
that oses many words to express the meaning. It is theopposicaof acon- 
(dse style. One great source of adi&nse style i»the injudicious use of those 
words termed synonyms. 

A BomhastlD style is one in which great swelling words ore used to ex- 
press common thoughts; and it arises out of a serioos endeavor to raise a 
low or familiar suhject above its rank. A species of the bombastic is what 
is sometimes called foatian or rant, such as boiueroas, emp^ declamation — 
"the rant of &iwtics." 

Both in Btyle and Bubject-matter a writer may also be 
humorous, pathetic, or sublime. 

A HDmorom writer is one who, affeclJng to be grave and serious, paints 
his objects in such colors as to excite mirth and laughter. A humorous 
writer is a viitly writer; but while wit may consist of a single brilliant 
thought, fnoaoT is a continuous and pleasing flow of wit. Wit often offends, 
but humor is always agreeable. (See p. 188.) 

The Fatbetie in writing is that which is calculated to move the feelings, 
particularly the feelings of pity, sorrow, and grief. It is in the pathetic part 
of a discourse tliat eloquence exerts its greatest power. 

The Sublime in writing — which is adapted to grand and noble objects 
only — consists of boldness and grandeur in the thonghCs, so expressed in 
language as to GU the mind with lofty conceptions. In the sacred Scrip- 
tures are found the highest instances of the sablime. The most noted 
example is the fbllowing; "God s^d. Let there be light, and there was 
light." Bontbast is one species of false snblime. 

Next to the primary requiEites of a clear articulatioo and 
correct pronunciation, the vocal expression which shall cor- 
rectly picture forth the varied thoughts, sentiments, and feel- 
ings intended to be conveyed by written language, depends 
upon the following modes of the voice. The voice is varied 
by different modes and degrees of Quantity, Force, Stress, 
Time, Rtch, Emphasis, Quality, and Liflection. 

QniKTirr relates to the vfdome or quantity of sound given to syllables. 
Thus the Bflloble pt( is incapable of receiring the same quanti^ cS waaaA 



that can ba given to the syllable roBi yet dther may be prononnced with 

greater or less Tolnme or prolongation <rfsoand, without vaiying the degree 
ot force. Quantity is increased both by Force and Tiine. 

FoECB giveB increased loadness to sonnd, and hence, while the time given 
to the pronnnciation of a Byllable remains the same, Force increases the 
quantity or volume of sonnd. Although the volume of sound may vary 
from B soft and short whisper to a vehement and prolonged shout, jet it is 
sufficient for practical purposes to make only three degrees of it, so/i, mod- 
erate, and bu^. 

Soft BDd gentle tones, with little force, are ased to express pathetic and 
snbdued feelings, caution, secrecy, wonder, reverence, awe, pity, tenderness, 
and love. 

Itoderale force is used in nnimpa^^oned discourse, and in reading nsirs- 
tive, descriptive, or didactic writings. 

Laud force is used in powerful appeals to a multitude, and in espresang 
an violent passions and vehement emotions, sach as anger, cominand, ex- 

A fiill medinm volume of sound distingnishes manly sentiments from 
childlike eraotionB. It is also the expl-ession of noble manhood, as differ- 
ing both from the light treble of childhood, and the thin voice of old age 
which "pipes and whistles in its sound." 

Stress. The different degrees of force and qnanlitj may be applied with 
greater or less etreai of the voice— ai/iipti!^, to express command, indigna- 
tion, anger, defiance, spite, revenge, sadden fear, etc. ; or smoothli/ and uni- 
formly, to express animated, joyous, beautiful, noble, and generally all pleas- 
ant thoughts and feelings. 

Time. The time that should be given to the pronunciation of syllables, to 
pauses, and, consequently, to the entire rending of a piece, must also dei«ud 
npon the character of the piece. If the piece be grave or pathetic, it will 
require thnn time in tbe enunciation. If it be a narrative or descriptive 
piece, it will reqaire rnedumi or moderate tima— tliat is; of the standard 
measure of all nnamutional langnage. If tbe piece be uiimated or joyous, 
humorous and witty, it win require a somewhat rapid enunciation. The 
length, both of the grammatical and elocutional^ pauses, will also vaiy ac- 
cording to the characier of the piece. 

PncH OP Voice. Pilch of voice has reference to its degree of elevation, 
ai being Aii^A or ibio in tone. The medium of elevation in reading any friece 
is called the Key Note, or governing note, below and above which the voice 
of a speaker may range from the lowest to the highest clear sound which he 
can make. . The extent of this range is called hia compaas of voice. 

The Middle Pitch is the governing or key note in common conversation 
and in nnimpassiooed thought. Language of littie or no emotion admits 
but a moderate range of voice. 

The Low Pitch is the key note for the language of sublimity, awe, and 
reverence. Such language admits less range of voice than tiie former, ap- 
[HtMching, in some cases, almost to mo^toat, or entire eamenesa of tone. 



The High Pilch ie the natund key note for aoinitUed uid Joyoos i^eees. 
Such pieces also admit the greatest mnge or compass of voice, and tha 
greatest varied in change of tone. 

Bhpeisib. Emphasis is a forcible stress of voice upon some word or 
words in a EQDteace, on acconnt of th^r ^gnificancj and importance, and 
is to be governed wholly b; the sentiment to be expressed. Sometimes it 
merely gives prolonged ioadneat to a word ; sometimeB it is expressed by an 
intense blsaing whitper; and generally the various inflections are connected 
with it. Thus it not only gives additional/orM to language, but the sense 
often depends upon it. 

SXAMPLxa I did not SB; he atmekm^,' I said he struck .Ailin', 

IdidnotB&rh€<tnlcitnia! I said he p)l«Aa( nut. 

I did not say Itl Btmck me ; I said Jikn did. 

T did not 0^ be etmck me i bat 1 wrdte IL 

/ did not Bay he Btmck me ; bnt Jilm aald be did. 

Emphatic words are usually denoted by being printed in italics, as in the 
foregoing examples ; bat when the emphasis is designed to be very marked, 
CAPITALS are sometimes nsed, thus : To Arms! To Asms 1 TO ARMS I he 
cried. This is the Emphasis of Climax. 

Quality. Qualiij/ of voice has reference W the Ai'ud of sound uttered. 
Thns the tones of a good voice may be described as strong, clear, fM, deep, 
mellow, smooth, Jiexibte, sonorous, aoAnalural; while those of a bad or disa- 
greeable voice may be/£e({e, huslci/, thin, shrill, hard, harsh, inflexible, dull, 
nasal, or aff'ected. 

The principal qualities of the voice that reqnire special cultivation tx the 
purposes of oratorical expression are the Fnie Tone, the Orotund, the Aspi- 
rated, and the Gattural. 

The Pure Tone is the appropriate voice fbr narrative, descriptive, (Mdactic, 
or argumentative style, and for the expression of all tranquil and cheerful 

The Orotund is the Pure Voice deepened and inlenaiiied, sonorous, round 
and full, rich and thrilling. It is adapted to the expression of earnest and 
vehement feelings, awe, grandeur, vastneas, power, deep pathos, fervent love, 

The Aspirated Tone is a forcible breathing utterance, often approaching 
nearly to an intensified whisper. It is used to express paralysing fear, awe 
mingled with fear, amazement, terror, caution, secrecy, etc. 

AtfiztUi Ttmt- (lakkniu: Ijaw FH^Jl: Ahnipt Btrat. 
But husb^ ! hark' t a deep sound etrlkes like a rising knell I 
Did ;e not hear iff 

Aiplrvlfd 7bu; Blow Tlih^ Low ftiek. 

While thiDnged the citizens with terror dumb'. 
Or whtsperlnjt with white lips'— " The toe' I the;come'1 they cotae' 1" 
The Gtittaral Qaalttg is a deep, bnt aspirated and harsh tone of voice, 
Qsed to express aversion, hatred, revenge, loatbiog, disgust, contempt, com- 
bined with eneigy of purpose. 

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Siyloet. He hub dStgramd^ m*> *ui binacnd a 
U>ttr»\ nmckid at my gaine\ toomtd ay oMoo\ 
Uendg', A«U«rl mlae owmlts' : lad wlu('gblina«n>f luni-MwC Hub not ■ jaw 
^M ' lutb Dot ft Jew idwla, 6rgant, dimintiont, tlaati, afMioiit, pdt^unt I 

Isry.EcnoNa. Inflections are turns or slides of the voice. Intimately 
connected with emphasiB, forco, time, and quality, they furnish the oiosi 
ample and varied lights and Bhadea of emotioQal expresaion. (For a 
descriptioii of the inflections, see Third Header, page viL ) The rising 
inflectioD is denoted by the acnte accent (') ; the falGng by the grave 
accent (') ; and the componnd or naving inflection by the drcninflex 


The proper variations or modulations of the voice within its natontl and 
easy range or compass, embracing the subjects of quantity, force, time, pitch, 
quality, and inflections, constitute mehdy, which may be deflned ' ' an agree- 
able succession of sounds." The accented ejlkbles of words ate the chief 
reliance fbr increasing the melody, while the unaccented ajrUablea liinii the 
ladder on which melody glides &om tone to tone. 

Melody is generally desirable, bat not always. The natnral expression 
of thaftry of passion has as little melody in it as the discordant clash of 
anus, and the fi-antic sbneke and ydle of a body of madmen. As the ob- 
ject of language is to repreient real life, it moBt picture it« discOTds as well 


PoerriTT: and Comfusyb Ideas. Certainty and complete- 
nesB as to the leading idea in the mind of tlie epeaker or 
hearer, and thooghts positive and fnlly expressed, incline the 
voice to the ftming inflection — the rMMiral sign of a com- 
pleted expression, that is to receive no modification. This 
principle embraces completion of the sense; positive, fiill, 
and complete affirmation and declaration ; ana all unmodi- 
fied ideas generally. 

Rkx^tits and Ltcohflsib Ideas. Uncertainty as to the 
leading idea in the mind of the speaker or hearer, ideas ez- 
preased relatively to other ideas, and incomplete thought, 
mcline the voice to the rising inflection — the natur<A sign 
either of uncertainty, or that the idea is not yet fiilly ex- 
pressed. This principle includes cases ofdouht; the sense 
incomplete ; ideas that are to be modified or explained ; and 
all that are made to contrast with positive and complete 


Although these are principlea of almost nniversal applica- 
laon, covering Dearly all the important points of inflection, 
yet they are not always very apparent, owing chiefly to the 
tnverted forms in which sentences are now often found ; and 
in minor particulars the desire for Mdody sometimea sets 
them aside, as in the case of the rising inflection near the 
close of a sentence. Emphasis also sometimes requires a 
departure from the principle. We shall therefore give the" 
nsual and more definite rules for the inflections, but witli 
such explanations of the illustrative examples as will show 
the veiy general application of the foregoing principles to 
t^i'b philosophy of expression. We shall thereby, while we 
retam the old rales that are easily comprehended and read- 
ily applied, gain the advantage of presenting the reasons on 
wnicu they are founded. 

Rule L — ^Direct questions, or those that can be answered 
by yes or no, generally require the rising inflection, and their 
answers the falling. 

EiAHPUS.— Do you Ihlui he w!U come tc>daj'<I No' i I think be will not'^ 
WaalhBtHenrr'r No<; il wns John'.— Did 7011 see Winiun'T ¥ea', I did'.— Are 
yon BOtng to toWtt' T No', I Bhall go tiwnorrow'. 

a. NotB I. — Answers that are giren in a carelesB or iadifferoit maniMr, 
or in a tone of slight diereapect, Cake tlie rising inilectioii in all caeee. 

auvpLH.— DidyoaweWllllun'r I did' Wbat did he uy Co yon' t Hot much'. 

S«e, Blao, Lemon II., p. S>, of Second Reader. 

b. NoTB 11. — Direct qnostions, when Chey have the naCara of an appeal, 
or are spoken in an exclamstorf manner, take the/ufAs^ infleclJon. In 
these cases the voice often falls below the general pitdi, contror; to the gen- 
eral rule for Che falling infleccion. 

EI1HPI.H.— /« not that a beentlfal dght' r— mu yon persist In dolDg It" t— A it 
right" !-/«lCjuat't 

WsB ever woman tn this hamot wooed' I 
WaseTSr woman Id this hnmorwon'r . 
o. NoTB in. — When a direct qnestion is not ntiderUood, and is repealed 
with emphaslB, the repeated qoestiiHi takes Che felling inflection. 

EiiMPUB.— Will yon apeak to him Co-day' t If Che qnesCloD Is not anderstood, It 
Is repeated wlCh the falling ln<lecCloii,tha9i "Will yon apeak to him to-daj'?— An 
yon going to Salem' J I eafd. Are yon going Co Salem'' f 

EamBrka. — d. Here are doabt and nncerCaJnty in the mind of the speak- 
er — not a positive, bnC a relative idea ) hence the rising inflection. The an- 
swer is ^liiive, requiring tbe/ttAiNy inflection. 

e. The leading and controlling idea here is theposi'd'ne one, in the mind 
of the speaker, that Che thing referred to is so manifestly wrong that the in- 
dividoal addrsued onght not to persist in doing it. This idea is ao Krong 


is to ovarshadow the donbtfnl idea nltether he will or nill not persiat in 

f. The controlling idea is the patttine one, that it is not rig^t. 

g. HeretheBpeakermBreljasaertsordeclaresnbathiirormwqaeationwu. 
Rui^ n. — The pause of au^pertaion, denoting that the 

sense is unfinished, such as a succession of particulars that 
are TMt emphatic, cases of direct address, sentences imply- 
ing condition, the case absolute, eto., generally requires the 
rising inflection, which varies in degree only, according to 
the sense. It is sometimes but little moi-e than a bare mti- 
pension of the voice, with scarcely any perceptible rise. 

ETAHTLra.— Jofan', Jamea', and WUIIam', come tiers.— Tbe graat', the good', Uie 
honared', the noble', the wealtti;', alike paii sway. 

Friands', Ronmna', oonntrTmen', iend me yoni e»re. 

JmuB^th unto him, Simon', Boa of Jonai!', loveat thOD me' f 

Ye hllla', and dales', je rlTera', woods', and plahu'. 
And je that tlve and move, fair creatarea', lell'. 
Tell, II ye eaw, how came 1 ttias' i howtiera'r 

a. NoTB I. — For cases in which emphatic BacceaaioQ of particoljira modi- 
fiea this rule, see Rule Vni. 

b. Note II. — Sentence* which are inva-ted inform often bring the pause 
of suspension, and consequently the rising inflection, at the close, thus farm- 
ing an apparent, but not real exception to the rule. Thas : 

Then said Agrlppa nnto Featue", TlilB man might have been set at liberty'' IT he 
had not appealed nnlo CiesBr''. 

iDgraUCnde la, Iheretbre, a species o( injustice', aald Sitcratea. Ishoald think sd\ 
anawered Leander*. 

If we change the expression to the more natural form, 
these examples will read : 

Then said Agrtppa onto Festas'*, If thte man had not appealed nato Coear'', he 
might hare been set at Ubert;''. 

Ingratitude Is, (hetelbre, a spedeg at Injustice', stdd Socracsa. Leander an 
I should tklnk so\ 

/. This is a positive assertion, and requires the/o//inj inflection. 

g. This clause, if standing alone, leaves the sense incomplete, or Tclative, 
and therefore requires the Hstn^ inflection. 

EuLB in. — Indirect questions, or those which can not be 
answered by yes or no, generally require the felling inSec- 
tign, and their answers the same. 

ExAHFLxa.— When did yon see Jamca' f Testerda;'.— When will he came again" I 

Vbo BBf the people that I ant' 1 They answerluKi >ald, John ttie Baptist' ; but 
some taj Bliaa' ; and ottters say (bat one of the old prophets' Is risen agsla. 

IHd yon aee WilUami t Yee'i. Did he say any th^ig^ T Tea". What did ha 

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s. NoTB I. — Bat when tbe indirect question la one asking s r^pcftfton of 

what was not at fil^t nnderstood, it takes the ruin^ inflecllOD. " What did 
he saj' ?" is an indirect qaesiioii, with tbe &Iling inflection, asking for infor- 
maldoii. But if I mjself heard the person speak, sjid did not fuUf nnder- 
Btsnd him, and then ask some perKin to repeal what he said, I give mj ques- 
tion the ririfi^ inflectioii, thus, "What^ did he say'"?" 

b. NoTB n. — When the name of (he person addressed is added to the 
indirect qnestioo, the risiiig inflectioD is given to the pri^ier name. Thus, 
" Where ara ;on going', WiUiam' ?" "Whatdidhe say'.John'?" This 
ia no deviation from the Role ; but it iUostrates both Roles II. and UL, in- 
asmuch as the question properljt ends before the proper name is spoken. 

Semarkt. — h. Tliis has the bJling inflection, because the controlling idea 
in the mind of the questioner is the positive one, that James will come again, 
and the "when" is an accessory or BnbortUnate idea. If the "when" had 
been the leading idea, the question would have been, " Will he come again' J" 

i. Bere is uncertainty in the mind of the speaker. 
_;'. The idea conveyed by the answer is a posiiive one. 

k. Here is uncertainty agun. /. The answer is positive. ' 

ta. Here the controlling idea, laa^e poiitive by the preceding answer, is 
that William actually taid lomething. Hence the falling inflection for the 
last question. 

n. Here, as the " what" is made emphatic, the controlling idea is, not that 
he said tomeiking, as in the former case, but the whole force of tbe mind is 
directed for the moment as to " lehal" he said. As this is not a poaiiive, 
hut a rdative idea, the question lakes the rising inflection. 

RuLB IV. — A completion of the sense, whether at the 
cIoBe or any other part of the sentence, requires the falling 

EiiiirLis.— Be that saw me' saw you also', and he wlio aided me ones' will aid 
me again'. 

In Uie beginning, God created the benveiiB auj the eartli. And the eaftb was 
wllboDt Ibrm, and void' ; and darkuess was on the face at the deep' : and tbe spirit 
of Ood moved upon the bee of the watere'. 

a. Note. — But when strong; emphasis, with the fidling inflection, comes- 
near the cloee of a sentence, tlie voice often takes the rising inflection at the 

BiAHFLU.— If WlWam does not come,! think JcAn' will be here'°.— Ube sAouM 
CDine, vhai^ would yon do' T 

Cabslds. What nlgbt is this r 

Caboa. a vfli; pleasing night to honest' men'. 

PnxHd^, I am attentive'. 

This Is tbe conne ralber of our enemies, tban of jMmd»' of onr ooilntiy> liberty'. 

If tbe witness does not belleva In Ood, or a tatnre stalo, fou can not nMiir' hlin'>. 

Remark!. — o. If we change tbe sentence to its more natural form, it will 
read, "I think Jobi' will be here', even if William does noi' come';" which 
shows that the thought is not fully completed mih the word "here." 

p. With tbe felling inflection and empbads on "tmear'," and the rinng 

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in&ection on "him'," the idea ii changed (hnn that of an independmt, pos- 
itive assertion (which it would be if " him" had not the rising inflection) to 
that of an unfinished or incomplete assertion, as thus expressed: "You con 
not swear' him, even if he does not believe in God or a fature Blals'." 

RulbT. — Words and clausea connected by the diBJunctive 
or, generally require the rising inflection before the disjanct- 
ive, and the falling after it. Where several words are thus 
oonnected in the same daiae, the rieing inflection is given 
to all except the last. 

KiiMFLm.— will JOB bo' or atsj' r I will go',— Will you go in the hattf, Ot the 
carriage', or tbfi cara', or the coach'* F 1 will go Id tbe can'. 
H« ma; etudj lav', or medicine', or divinity' { or', be may «utar Into trade\ 
Tbe baptism of John, wu It Ihim heaven', ot o(men< r 
Did he travel for hsaUh', or Tor pleaeare' r 
Did be resemble his ather', or his mother' t 

a, HoTB I. — When the disjunctive or ia made 
Inflectioii, it is followed by the rising inflection, i: 
to Rule IV, ; as,"Heinti«( have traveled fbi health, or' pleasure''." 

ExAjiPUta.— He must either aork', or' Btadj'.— He muit be a nueAwils, nr' a law- 
yers'—He most get his living hi ont way, or' the other'. 

b. Note II. — When oris oseAcoajanclivels, as no contrast is denoted by 
it, it requires the risiitg inflection ajier as wdl as before it, except when the 
claase or sentence expresses a corupUtion of the sense. 

EiuiFijB.— Did be give yon money', or food', or clothing' 1 Ko', he gava me 

Bemark*. — q. While ihe poaaible alternatives are still in the mind of the 
speaker, and the idea is not yet positive or complete, the voice keeps to the 
tising inflection; hot when the altenutlives are exhausted with the word 
"coach," the voice falls, and the completed idea is ihva potitice that the 
party addressed most go in one of the ways specified. But if the word 
"coach" had the rising inflection, it wonld show that it was not positive, in 
tiie mind of the qiet^r, that the party addressed would go in either oftbosa 

r. Tie tme reaaon for the rising inflection on "pleasure" is, that the 
idea is not fuUy completed here. There is a, becatae in the mind of tbe 
■peaker wluch is not expi'essed ; as if he would have said, ' ' He mat have 
traveled for health', or' pleasnie'; because there could have been no other 
motira to infinence him." The same reason applies to another example 

*. " He nutt be a mechanic', or' a lairyer' ; because no other altomatiTe 
is left to bin), " 

RiTLB VL — When negation ia opposed to affirmation, the 
former takes the rising and the latter the falling inflection, 
in whatever order they occur. Comparison and contrast 
(antithesis) come under the same head. 

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EzAMPLiB.— I did net htar him', I ww him'.— T ia!d he was 1 good soldier', Dot' B 
good dUien'.— He will not corns to-dsy', but to-morrow'.— He did not call me', hat 
;oa\— Be means dottrnl', not uudnUfnl' I come to bury CKau\ not Coproiw him". 

ThiB 1b no time (Or a trlboaal of Jastice', bnt (or showing mere;' ; not for accma- 
tion'.bnt torphllaathropj'; notfor trlal'ibntlbrpaidan'; not ft^ aentence and ex- 
ecnllon', bal Ibi compauion and Idndnass'. 

Onapariaim and CVmtnut.— Homer was the greater genltu', Vtr^l the better artlBfj 
Id the one we moat admire the man', In the other the work'.— Then were trranls at 
home',aod robbera abroad'. 

By honor' and dishonor' ; by evil report' and good report'i aadecelverB', and yet 
true' ; ae anlmown', and jet well known' : as dying', and behold we Hyb' ; as chaa- 
tened', and not billed' ; as eorrowful', yet always r^oidng' j as poor', jet making 
many rich'; ashaTlngnothlog',yet poesesalnjcall Ihlnes'. 

When our vices laave ua', ire flatter onrselvea we leave titan}. 

The prodigal robs his heir', tha misei roba Aimscf/'. 

a. NoTB I.— Negative eenUmcea which imply a contimmnce of Ihonght, 
althougb tliej may not be exposed to affinnadon, frequently close with the 
ridng inflection ; as, 

Troe polltenaas is not a mere compliance with arbitrary cuaCont'. Is it' f 

Do not suppose that I voald StBtiei yon'. 

These thlnga do not make your gmenimtnl^. So they' T 
This ia nearly allied in character to Bnle IX ; and snch examplea as 
those under Hot« I, may Iw considered as expressiTe of lender emotion, in 
opposition to strong emotion. AffirmatiTa sentences aimilar to the forego- 
ing require the rising inflection, in accordance with Rule IX., when they 
express tender emotion ; as, 

I trust yon will Jaar me'. 1 am sore yon are mistaken'. 

Bnt,dr, the poor most notatarre'; they must be taken care of'. 

b. Note II.— When, in contraaied sentences, negation is attended with 
deep and calm feeling, it requires the falling inflection ; and also in em- 
phatic negative commands, generally, as in Biblical precepts, where the 
sentences are not contraated. 

BiiiiPi.Be — Thou Bbalt not glean thy vineyard', neither shalt thou Bather erecy 
grape ot thy vineyard'; thon Bbalt leave them for the poor and stranger'. See Lea- 
Bon XX. 
We are perpleied', bnt not In despair' i persscnled', bnt not forsaken''. 

Semarks. — (. In antithetic or contrasted clauses, the nnturrtl order seems 
tc be to place the ntost emphatic of the two clauses last, and to give it the 
falling inflection, to express a fully completed thought. Then the first clanse 
is incomplete in idea, and has the rising inflection. Thus: "I do not conte 
topraise Ceesar', bat to bury him'." 

u. Here the negative clanse contains the leading, emphatic, and potitive 
idea, and has, consequently, the falling inflection. The aifirmative clanse 
has the rising inflection, indicating that the sense is not yet complete, and 
that something more is to follow. 

EcLK VIL — For the sake of variety and harmony, the last 
pause hnt one in a sentence is usually preceded hy the rie- 
ins inflection. 

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TioM tUM om litalUi', our Umba', onr tMoltlM', oar Btrni^', uid our featorw'. 

a. Note. — The for^jomg rule is loinetiiiies departed from in tbe case of 
aa empbate snccesuon of particular, for wbicb, we Bole VIII. 

In tha BecoDd example above, the rising inflection is given to llie norda 
keallh, limb4, etc., both because they are not attended with stroag emphasis, 
and because they are followed by the panae of suspensioa. 

Bnnaik. — v. Here the melody of tbe sentence reqaites the ridng inflec- 
lion, and we know no otiier reason to assign far it. 

Rni.B VllL — a. A Commmcing Series. 

In an emphatic s&ies of partiailara, whera each meniber 
of the series does not form complete sense, but the whole is 
introdactory to some /oUcnoinff clause, every member of the 
series, except the last, should have the ialling inflection. 

BuHTLL — Our dfnntovit litarW, oar ffsUty inaainu', our titlent prtfudkti^, and 
misplaced dcaiiea', ace the inBtnmientBarthetcoableiThlcliiteeDdiire. 

d. A Condudhtg Series. 
When the series ends the sentence, and each member of 
the series might form complete sense in itself, eveiy particu- 
lar in tbe series, except the last but one, shonld have the Ml- 
ing infiection ; and, indeed, aU should have it, if the closing 
member of the series is of sufficient length to admit a panso 
with the rising inflection, before the end. 

BiAUTLE.— Chsrit; mffereth long', and !s kind'; cbuitj ««rMh not'i eharit]' 
MuntetA not itself >; is not pnllM up> i doth not bataaTellaeUinuwmlv'; seeketliuat 
her mm'; Isnot essllypnisatal'; Uilnketli no ra{l'. 

o. Note I. — Tbe degree of emphasis, and often of solemnity, with which 
tbe snccessive particulars are mentioned, decides, in cases of the pause of 
TOSpension (see Hide II.), whether the rising or the felling inflection is to 
be used. Thos a snccesuon of particnlars which one reader deems aafm- 
portant, will be read by him throughout with the rising inflection, while an- 
other, feeling more de^ly, will nse the fiUling inflection. Thus : 

1. The birds sing', the lambs play', tbe grass grows', the trees are gieeu', and aU 
natui-e Is besntUnl'. 

% The blind see': the lame walk'; the lepers are cleansed^ ; tbe deal bear'; the 
dead are raised' ; and to tbe poor' tlie Gospel is preached'. 
In this example all the parliculara have tbe blliug inflection. 

The first line in Hare Antony's harangue is read differently by equally 
good readers ; bnt the difference arises wholly fi^m thdr different appre- 
datioQ of the spirit and intendon of tbe speaker. Thus : 

Friends', Eomans', cooDtrymen', land me yonr ears' 1 

Friends', Bomans', caDatrrnien', lend me jour ears' I 

If Antony designed to characterize "countrymen" with peculiar empha- 
lis, he gave it theJaUing inflection, otherwise he gave the word no greater 
prominence than the preceding words " friends" and " Romans." 

K GtHH^Ie 


d. Note n. — GensTally, emphatie, and especially solemn dedamdons, 
whether positive or n^ative, Ba in Bible commands and precepU, take the 

fejling inflection. • 

Bemark.— 10. Here each engihatic clotus requires the &Uing inflection, al- 
thoogh the idea is not jst complete, and no more positiTC in character than 
in the clauses of example 1 ,.ander the foregoing note. 

RuLB IX. — Expressions of tender emotion, such as grie^ 
pity, kindness, gentle joy, a gentle reproof^ gentle appeal, 
gentle entreaty or expostulation, etc., commonly require a 
gentle rising inflection. 
BiiUPLW,— Maiy' 1 Marj' 1 do' aot flo so". 

Uj motlier' I vbea J learned that Iboa wast dead', 
8ay\ wut tbon coneclous' of Che tears' I ebed' r 
Hovered thy epirtt o'er thy eorrowing son', 
Wretch eree then', tltb's Journey Jnet begun' t 
T would not lire aJway'^ I ask not to fltay, 
Wbare Blorm after storm rieea dark o'er the way'* ; 
I would not life alwsy, thus ftttered by ein'; 
TemptaUiHi without, and corrDption withlu';— 
Isyonr^firiAff'well'.thooWmon'of whomye apaie'I la ftt'yet all™'! 
Bemuk. — I. The true reason for the nae of the rising inflection in this 
and similar cases seems to be, that the idea in the mind of the speaker is 
still iiuiomplete in the expression. The reasons why he ' ' would not live al- 
. way," though anexpressed, are in his mind, and lead him to give hia voice 
that kind of derated suepeneion which always denotes continuatiim of the 
idea, and is here expressive, also, of tender emotion. 

Rule X, — Expressions oistrong emotion, such as the lan- 
guage of exclamation (not designed as a question), author- 
ity, surprise, distress, denunciation, lamentation, earnest en- 
treaty, command, reproach, terror, anger, hatred, envy, re- 
venge, etc, and strong affirmation, require the/hUing inflec- 

EuHPUts.— What a piece o( work l» man' 1 How noble In reaeoD'' I how inflnlte 
In fkcnltlesM in action', bow like an angel' 1 In apptebeuslou', bow like a God' 1 
MyloTds,Iamanui:el'; yes, my lords, I am amazaj' at bla Grace's speech. 
Woe unto yon Pbarlsees'l Woe unto yon Scribes' I 
Ton blacke', yon stoiiee', yon worse than senseless things" I 
I dore' accusation. I d^fl/' tbe honorable gentleman. 
rd rather be a dog', and bay the moon', than mch a Soman'. 
a. Note. — When exclamatory sentences become qnestioiu, they reqnire 
the riling inflection. 
Bxiii»PLBH.—IFftiit are yon saying'l—iriws are yon going". 
They planted by vour care' 1 No' I your oppieisions planted them In Amerlca\ 
J. This is equivalent to the declaration, "He is noble in rea- 
is expressive of a positive idea, completed in the expression. 
I. This b equivalent to "You ore blocks 1 yon are stonesretCgS posi- 
tive dedoralion. 

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RiTLB SH. — Hypothetical expressions, sarcasm, and irony, 
and BentCDces vnptymg a comparisoa or coDtrast that is not 
fully expressed, often require a onion of the tvo inflections 
on the same syllable. 

BxFi^HATioii. — In additkni to the riaing and &llins alidas or indectioiM, 
there is what i» called the drcu^fiex or uai^e, which is a onion of the two 
on the same pliable. It is a significant twisting or mriDg of the voice, 
gensrnll; first downward and then npward, bat aometiniM tlw reverse, and 
is attended with a sensible pro (rocfton of sound on the sjllable thus iiiQect- 
ed. It is marked thus ; ("') as, " I may posdblf go to-mBrrow, thongh I 
can not go to-daj." "I did it mjsalf, sir. Surprising' I ynididitr' 

The circumilex is e^niflcant of dai^k meaning, mockerj', or insinoatian, 
as distinguished ttota ihoee ttraight slides of the vtnce which denote eiuneet- 
ness and dncerity. 

BzAilTui.— 1 tranl jrsa I was dEwn, and out of brenth ; and so was he. 

And bat br ttMW vlls gOn^ ha woald tilmseU' bare been a soldier'. 

IJDBDi. Hamlsl', joa ban jom fUbet macb offsnded. 

Huiurr. Hadam', iiSu bave 017 taitaei much offended. 

M't^TB. — A nice distinction in sense sometimee depends upon the ri^t 
use of the inflections. 

BzAjf PUS.— " I did not gl<re a dipence'." 

The i^xMuufiex on sixpence implies that I gavs more or less than that 
muD ; but the falling inflection on the same word implies that I gave noth- 

"A mm wbolain tbe daflf use ot ardent spirits, If he does notbecoms adrAnh- 
ard', is Id danger of losing bis bealth and ebancter." 

Tba rising inflection on the clodng 8;Ualfle of cfruniEnri/ would pervert 
the meaning whoU;, and assert that, in order to preserve health and char- 
acter, one mtist become a dmnkard. 


Edxb VIT. — ^The monotone, which is a snccession of words 
OB the same key or pitch, is often employed in passages of 
solemn deaunciation, sublime description, or expressing deep 
reverence and awe. It is marked with the short horizontal 
daah over the accented vowel. 

S1UIP1.1S.— And one cried nnlo aaotber, and said, HAly, bGlr, hU j Is the LBrd of 
UUb. Tbe whGIe ebtb Is nn of bia glOr?, 

Biesslng, liSnof, gUry, and ptwar be Onto him that sntetb on the thrCne, aod to the 
lAnb biMver and ev$r. 


Rule VTH- — ^The rhetorical pause is a pause by which the 
voice is momentarily sospended where the grammatical 000- 



struction of the eentenoe does not require it, or enspended 
longer than the ordinary pauses would require. Thoa, in 
briefly describing two persons or objects by contrast or 
contraries (a figure of speech called arUUkesis, see p. 1 41), we 
naturally express the flrst clause of the contrast in a Uttle 
higher tone of voice than we apply to the latter, with a 
pause, more or less prolonged, between them. Thus: "Ho- 
mer" was the greater genius' — Vii^il" the better artist'." 
"To your faith"' add viitne"; to virtue"' knowledge'; to 
knowledge"' temperance'; to temperance"' patience\" See, 
also, the coBsural pause, p. 330. Sometimes the rhetorical 
pause is made without any infiection, and sometimes vntit 
one. It is denoted by the short superior dash. 


The first and most important ie, "Be sore ToanndetvtaDd what 70a read, 
And endeavor to express tiie sentiments of the author aa ;on would express 
(he Mine if tbey were yow okki, and yon were talking," Ho one can read 
well who does not fully adbere to this principle. 

In the second place, those who would excel in reading ihoiild colcivate 
eveiy manly and noble virtue ; for no one can fully express noble senli- 
neuts unless he feelt them. Counterfeit inutatioug will be detected. In 
the language of Dr. Blair : " A true orator" (and, we may add, a correct 
and effective reader) "ehonld be a person ofgenerons sentimenls.of warm 
feelings, and of a mind turned toward the adnuratian of all those great and 
high objects which mankind ara natnrajly forced to admire. Joined with 
the manly virtnes, he should at the' same Ijme possess strong and lender 
senubility to all the injuries, distresses, and Borrows of his tetlow-creatares ; 
a heart that can readily enter into the clrcnmstances of others, and malix 
Men- cow Ait own." (See, also. Divisions XX., XXL, and XXII.) 


Thion^ont the body of the work the references to the Rules are hj^figurti 

corresponding to the number of theBule; and where the reference is to some 

Note, or division under the Bole, such Note or division is denoted hy the letter 

which is placed before it. Tbns, 1, c, refers to Rule I., division c. 



Unofrrt".— 1. Whit la Nwratlon! Deicrlptlonf— 8. HlBtoijf 
Fartlier lllnetnitlona of pamHon ud dsscrlptioti — i. How the two ira cncn cam- 
hlned— e. The reqnlsltea for each. Oenliu raqolBite to excel In nuiatlTs.— & Poet- 
ical DuratlDii and deBcriptlou.] 

1. N^itRATTON is a relation of the particnlare of traneac- 
tiom or events ; as of tbe march of an anny, or the detiulB 
of a siege. Dbscbiftion is an acconnt of objects and scenes' ; 
as a description of cities, towns, and scenery; of beauties and 
defects; of characters and attribntcB. 

2. We give a narrative of the events that make np na- 
tional life' ; and this is history'*. In tbe form of narrative, 
also, we relate the travels', tbe adventures', the dangers^, and 
the escapes of individuals'* ; and this is biography'^ 

3. We give a narrative of that which passes, or of what 
occurred, as of the events of a journey; and in the same arti- 
cle we may describe the scenes presented to our view. Nai^ 
ration', when confined to a person', is limited to what he 
does'' : description relates to what he ia. The latter may in- 
clude whatever distinguishes a man from others', either in 
his mode of thinking', or acting^ ; in his habits', in his man- 
ners', in his language', or his tastes'. Both narration and 
description are employed in fiction', as well as in tmthful 

4. Furthermore, a narrative is a relation of several con- 
nected incidents, in the order in which they occurred ; while 
a description consists in the presentation of several uncon- 
nected particulars respecting some common object. Hence, 

I, e, etc. Aofb— Obaerre tbat (be eaperlor Sgares thronghont the work let^r to the 
correapondlDg numbera of tbe BUnnUiBnary RuUi. All the marks (br tbe riring Id- 
flectlon In tbis lesson are lllastratlve of Rule 11.. and thoee fnr (be/aUfng Inllec- 
Ucp, of Bide IV. Let tbe pupila atud; these Rales, and note tbeli ^iplicaUon. 




while we give a narratiTe of events, as they occnrred, in the 
march of an army, or in the life of a nation', we may, in the 
same connection, describe the particulars of a battle', of a 
tempest', of a conflagration', or of an earthquake'* — pictur- 
ing forth the scenes to the eye as of something to he viewed. 
Hence narration and description are often combined; and 
the one frequently runs into the other. 

5. To be clear', distinct', impartial', truthful', concise', and 
yet lively'^, are the qualities chiefly required in narration'*; 
while description i-equires the same qualities', together with 
a more vivid painting', to give to the scenes depicted some- 
thing of the reality of life\ Narrative is the plainest kind 
of writing', and the easiest understood'; and yet eminent 
success in it is to be attained only by writers of genius'. 
There are many writers of annals', and memoirs', and lives', 
and yet there are but few great historians. 

6. But narrative is not confined to prose'; for the epic 
poet', who recites the incidents of some illustrious enter- 
prise', tells his story in verse"; and both the historian and 
the poet strive to enliven their works with descriptions of 
characters', and objects and scenes of interest'. Shorter nar- 
ratives in verse are also common; but they also generally 
introduce more or less of description. 

Trne TStmiisB.^BaiU, 3 Kings, v. 
[Borne of tbs best exsmpleB of plain oanatlTS are foond In tbe BIMa ; but even 
Iiere Uiey are eeldam altogetber free IXom ScKriptian. Thns, In the follovlng nar- 
rative, the 1st verse contatne a deecrlpUon of Ni'Knian ; tbe beginning uid duae of 
the Stb Terse dewrlbe blm as being angrj; tbe dose of the Btb Is descriptive; and 
tbe last clause in the lesBon— In Italics— le purely descriptive also. Observe Ibat the 
reftrence figures rater to Elocntlonar; Rnles of corresponding nnmbers.] 

1. Now NaUman, captam of the host of the King of Syria% 
was a great man with his master', and honorable', because 
by him the Lord had given deliverance nnto Syria'* : he was 
also a mighty man in valor'* ; but he was a 15per'*. And the 
Syrians had gone out by companies, and had brought away 
captive, oot of the land of Israel, a little maid' ; and sbe^ 

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wiuted OD Naaman's wife. And she said unto her mistress, 
Would God my Lord were with the prophet that is in Sa- 
maria ! for he would recover Mm of his leprosy. 

2. And one went in, and told his lord, saying, Thus and 
thus said the niaid that is of the land of Israel And the 
King of Syria said, Go to, go ; and I will send a letter nnto 
the King of Israel. And he departed, and took with him 
ten talents of silver', and six thousand pieces of gold', and 
ten changes of raiment'. And he brought the letter to the 
IQng of Israel, saying, Kow, when this letter is come nnto 
thee, behold, I have therewith sent Naaman my servant to 
thee, that thon mayest recover him of his leprosy. 

3. And it came to pass, when the King of Israel had read 
the letter, that he rent his clothes, and said, Am I God, to 
kill and to make alive, that this man doth eeud unto me, to 
recover a man of his leprosy''? Wherefore consider, I pray 
you, and see how he seeketh a quarrel against me. 

4. And it was so, when Elisha, the man of God, had heard 
that the King of Israel had rent his clothes, that he sent to 
the king, saying, Wherefore hast thou rent thy clothes'^? 
Let him come now to me, and he shall know that there is a 
prophet in Israel. So Naaman came'*, with his horses and 
with his chariot'*, and stood at the door of the house of 
Elisha'*. And Elisha sent a messenger unto him', saying'. 
Go and wash in the Jordan seven times', and thy flesh shall 
come again to thee', and thou shalt be clean'. 

5. Bnt Naaman was wroth', and went away', an^ said, 
Befaold, I thought. He will surely come out to me, and stand, 
and call lb the name of the Lord his God, and strike his 
hand over the place, and recover the leper. Are not Ab'&n^ 
and Pharpar, rivers of Damascus, better than all the waters 
of Israel'' ? May I not wash in them, and he clean'' ? So 
he turned, and went away in a rage. 

6. And his servants came near, and spake nnto him, and 
sfud, Hy father, if the pi-ophet had bid thee do some great 
thing', wonld^t thou not have done it'' ? how much rather', 
then', when he saith to thee, Wash', and be clean'? Then 
went be down, and dipped himself seven times in Jordan, 
according to the saying of the man of God: and his flesh 


came again like unto the flesh of a little child~, and he was 

7. And he returned to the man of God, he and all his com- 
pany, and came and stood before him : and he said, Behold, 
now I know that there ia no God in all the earth bat in Is- 
rael; now therefore,! pray thee, take ablessing of thy serr- 
ant. But he said, Aa the Lord liveth, before whom I stand, 
I will receive none. And he ui'ged him to take it; but he 
refused. — So he departed from him a little way. 

8. But Gehazigthe servant of ElUha the man of God, said, 
Behold, my master hath spared Kaaman this Syrian, in not 
receiving at his hands that which he brought ; but, as the 
Lord liveth,! will mn after him, and take somewhat of faim. 

9. So Gebazi followed after Naaman : and when Kaaman 
saw him running after him, he lighted down from the char- 
iot to meet him, and said, !s all well'^ ? And he said, All is 
weir. My master hath sent me, saying, Behold, even now 
there be come to me, from Motmt Epbraim, two young men 
of the sons ot the prophets : give them, I pray thee, a talent 
of silver, and two changes of garments. 

10. And Kaaman said. Be content; take two talents. And 
he nrged^ him, and bound two talents of silver in two bags', 
with two changes of garments', and laid them upon two of 
his servants^; and they bare them before' him. And when 
be came to the tower, he took them from their hand, and 
bestowed them in the house; and he let the men go, and 
they departed. But he went in and stood before his master. 

11. And Elisha said unto him, Whence comeat thou'^, Ge- 
hasii'* ? And he said. Thy servant went no whither"-*'. And 
be said nnto him, Went not my heart with thee when the 
man turned again from his chariot to meet thee' ? Is it a 
time to receive money, and to receive garments, and olive- 
yards, and vineyards, and sheep, and oxen, and men-servants, 
and maid -servants''? The leprosy, therefore, of Naaman 
shall cleave unto thea—And he went out from his prraence~ 

'a leper' as toMte as snoto". 

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nctitloiii HairatlTe.— GOLDSHriB. 
[OriTTiB GoLDemTH, h celebrated poet and volamjnoos mlscftllaDeaiu miCar,wu 
bom In Ireland iD VHS; died in IITl.— The pnpit Bhould be able U> tell what por- 
Uddb me nomUm, iai -wJiai dacripHiie In this leeeoD. Allhaughitla mostl; narra- 
tive, yet the following portions are de»criptiTe : (l.)TbBDwarfaiidtbeGlant arode- 
Bcr1bedaiA<*n(I*, and the Dwarf was Mr]/ Muro^ww,' (1.) tliel>wart, afMiloslnghts 
arm, WW in a HqfiU pligJii; (S.) the Bityn were Moady mduled, ard tbe Dwarf I<M 
jfercethanatflreti <*,) The two friends were nBT/jojirujKir their rictory; snd,(lnal- 
If (Ik), (he Dwarf had ^irincd wladDm bj his loswa.] 

1. ADwAEF and a Giant, who were good ftiends, kept to- 
gether. They made a bargain that they would never for- 
sake each other, but go to seek adventures. The first bat- 
tle they fonght was with two Saracens ; and the Dwarf, who 
was very courageous, dealt one of the champions a most 
angry biow, 

2. He did but very little injury to the Saracen, who, lift- 
ing np his Bword, fairly struck off the poor Dwarf's arm. 
The latter was now in a woful plight ; but the giant, com- 
ing to his assistance, in a short time left the two Saracens 


dead on the plain ; and the Dwarf cut off the man's bead 
out of spite. They then traveled on to another adventure. 

3. This was against three bloody-minded Satyrs, who were 
carrying away a damsel in distress. The Dwarf was not 
quite 80 fierce now as before ; but, for all that, he struck 
the first blow, which was returned by another that knocked 
out his eye : but the Giant was soon up with them, and, had 
they not fied, would certainly have killed them every one. 

4. T^e two friends were very joyful for this victory ; and 
the damsel who was relieved fell in love with the Giant, and 
married him. They now traveled far, and farther than I can 
tell, till they. met with a company of robbers. The Giant, 
for the first time, was foremost now; but the Dwarf was 
not far behind. The battle was stout and long. Wherever 
the Giant came, all fell before him ; but the Dwarf came 
near being killed more than once. At last the victory de- 
cUredfor the two adventurers; but the Dwarf lost a leg. 

5. The Dwarf had now lost an arm, a leg, and an eye, 
while the Giant was without a single wound. Upon which 
the latter cried out to his little companion, "My little hero, 
this is glorious sport ! Let us get one victory more, and 
then we shall have honor forever." " No," cries the Dwarf, 
who was by this time grown wiser, "no; I declare off; Til 
fight no more ; for I find in every battle that you get all the 
honor and rewaids, but all the blows fall upon me." 

And the heaven departed as a scroll when it is rolled to- 
gether; and every mountain and island were moved out of 
their places. And the kings of the earth, and the great men, 
and the rich men, and the chief captains, and every bond- 
man, and every &eeman, hid themselves in the dens and in 
the rocks of the mountains; and sai^to the monntains and 
rocks, " Fall on us, and hide us from the face of Him that sit- 
teth on the throne, and from the wrath of the Lamb : for the 
great day of his wrath is come; and who shall be able to 
stand' P'— Rev. vi., 14. 





FniMU Hmn. 
[Fnnun Stmr, in American author and JcranuUlM, born In QnincT, !£■»., In 
1904 ; died in New York in 18B8. He is weil known aa tbe proprietor and tondnctor 
of " Hunt's Mfltclunts' MuMJne." 

TliiB msj be either a tme or a OcUtiaai namtiTe, In the dialogui njle (lee p.S2S). 
Let the pnpil point ont tboce parttona of the leBSon which are daerijOhi, Thoa, Id 
ttie let Tens, one of the peraona la dnsrliwl aa being fn Ma tam^ and the other a> 
b^ng a mUdle^gtdgeniletium — aa biTlngs Ioiii!(t^tun)riaa,etc.] 

1. " Cah yoa lead me two thoaaand dollars to establiali 
myself ia a small retail basiDesB" ?" inquired a young man, 
not yet out of his teens, of a middle-aged gentleman, who 
was poring over his ledger in tlie connting-room of one of 
the largest establiBhrnents in Boston. The person addressed 
turned towards the speaker, and, regarding him for a mo- 
ment with a look of surprise, inquired, " What teffurity oan 
you give me\ Mr. Strosser"'** ?" 

2. "Nothing but my note," replied the young man, 
promptly. — " Which I fear would be below par in market," 
replied the merchant, snuling. 

" Perhaps bo," said the yonng man ; " but, Mr. Barton'^, 
remember that the boy is not the man"* ; the time may come 
when Hiram StrosBer's note will be as readily accepted as 
that of any other' man'." 

.3. "Trne, very true," replied Mr. Barton, mildly ; "but 
you know business men seldom lend money without ad^ 
quate security; otherwise they might soon be reduced to 

At this remark the young man's countenance became 
very pale ; and, having kept silent for several moments, he 
inquired, in a voice whose tones indicated his deep disa[^ 
pointment, " Then you can not accommodate me — can you' ?" 

4, " Call upon me to-morrow, and I will give yon a re- 
ply," said Mr. Barton;. and the young man retired. 

Mf. Barton resomed his labors at the desk ; but his mind 
was so much upon the boy and his singular errand, that he 
could not pursue his task with any correctness ; and, after 
having made several sad blunders, he dosed the ledger, and 

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took hU hat, and went out upon the street Amvmg oppo- 
site the store of a wealthy merchant upon Milk Street, he 
entered the door. 

6. " Good monjing**, Mr. Hawley'*," said he, approaching 
the proprietor of the establishment, who was seated at his 
desk, connting over the profits of the week. 

" Gtood morning'," replied the merchant, blandly. " Hap- 
py to see yon. Have a seat''? Any news'? How's trade'^ ?" 

6. Without noticing these interrogations, Mr. Barton said, 
" Young Strosser is desirous of establishing himself in a email 
retail business in Washington Street, and called this morn- 
ing to secure of me a loan of two thousand dollars for that 

"Indeed''*!" exclaimed Mr. Hawley, evidently surprised 
at this announcement; "but you do not think of lending 
that Bura — do you'' ?" 

1. "I do not know," replied Mr, Barton. "Mr. Strosser 
is a young man of business talent and strict integrity, and 
will be likely to sncceed in whatever he undertakes." 

" Perhaps so," replied Mr. Hawley, doubtfully ; ." but I am 
heartily tired of helping to establish these young aspirants 
for commercial honors." 

" Have yon ever suffered from such a course'' P" inquired 
Mr. Barton, at the same time casting a roguish glance at 
Mr. Hawley. 

8. " No\" replied the latter, " for I never felt inclined to 
make an investment of that kind." 

"Then here is a fine opportunity to do so. It may prove 
better than stock in the bank. As for myself, I have con- 
cluded that, if you will advance him one thousand dollars, 
I will contribute an equal sum." 

9. " Not a single farthing would I advance for such a pur- 
pose ; and if you make an investment of that kind, I ^all 
consider you very foolish." 

Mr. Barton was ulent for several njinutee, and then arose 
to depart. " If you do not feel disposed to share with me 
in this enterprise, I shall advance the whole sum myself" 
Saying which, he left the stor& 

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30. Ten years have passed away since the c 
the conversation recorded in the preceding dialogue, and 
Ur. BartoD, pale and agitated, is standing at the same desk 
at which he stood when first introduced to the reader's at- 
tention. As page after page of his ponderons ledger is ex- 
amined, his despair becomes deeper and deeper, till at last 
he exclaims,"! am mined — utterly rnined'""!" 

**How so^?" inquired Hiram Strosser, who entered the 
counting-room in season to hear Mr, Barton's remark. 

11." The last European steamer brought news of the fail- 
ure of the house of Perieh, Jackson, & Co., London, who are 
indebted to me in the anm of nearly two hundred thousand 
dollars. Kewa of the failure has become general, and my 
creditors, panic-etricken, are pressing for payment of their 
demands. The banks refuse me credit, and I have not the 
means to meet my liabilities. If I could pass this crisis, 
perhaps I could rally again ; but it is impossible : my cred- 
■ itors are importunate, and I can not much longer keep above 
the tide," replied Mr. Barton. 

12. "What is the extent of year liabilities'^ f " inquired 

"Seventy-five thousand dollars," replied Mr. Barton. 
" Would' that sum be sufficient to relieve yoa'^ f" 
" It wonld," 

13. "Then, sir, yon shall have it," said Strosser, as he 
stepped up to the desk, and drew a check for twenty thou- 
sand dollars. " Take this, and when yon need more, do not 
hesitate to call upon me. Remember that it was from you 
I received money to establish myself in business," 

14. " But that debt was canceled several years ago," replied 
Mr. Barton as a ray of hope shot across his troubled mind, 

" True," replied Strosser, " but the debt of gratitude that 
I owe has never been canceled; and now that the scale is 
turned, I deem it my duty to come up to the rescue." 

16. At this singular tnrn in the tide of fortune, Mr. Bar- 
ton fiiirly wept for joy, — Every claim against him was pajd 
as soon as presented, and in less than a month he had passed 
the crisis, and stood perfectly safe and secure : his credit im- 
proved, and his business inoreased, while several others sank 

n,<jr.=^-h, Google 


under the blow, and could not rally, among whom was Mr, 
Hawley, allnded to at the commeocement of this article. 

16. "How did yon manage to keep above the tide'^P' in- 
quired Mr. Hawley of Mr. Barton, one morning, eeveral 
monthB after the events last recorded, as he met the latter 
upon the Btreet, on Ms way to his place of busiuesB. 

" Very easily, indeed,! can assure you," replied Mr. Barton. 

17. "Well, do tell me how," continued Mr.Hawley; "I 
lay claim to a good degree of shrewdnesB, but the strongest 
esercise of my wits did not Bave me; and yet yon, whose 
liabilities were twice aa heavy as my own, have stood the 
shock, and bave come off even bettered by the storm." 

1 8. " The truth is," replied Mr, Barton, " I cashed my pa- 
per as soon as it was sent in." 

"I suppose so," said Mr. Hawley, regarding Mr. Barton 
with a look of surprise ; " but how did you obtain the 
&nda'^ ? As for me, I could not obtain a dollar's credit : 
the banks refused to take my paper, and even my friends 
deserted me." 

19. "A little investment that I made some ten years ago," 
replied Mr. Barton, smiling, " has recently proved exceeding- 
ly profitable." 

" Investment"*''' I" echoed Mr.Hawley — "what invest- 
ment'3 f 

"Why, do you not remember how I established young 
Stroeser in busincBS some ten years ago" ?" 

20. " O yes, yes," replied Mr. Hawley, aa a ray of suspi- 
don lighted up his countenance ; " but what of that' ?" 

" He is now one of the lai^est dry goods dealers in the 
city; and when this calamity oame on, he came forward, 
and very generously advanced me seventy-five thousand 
dollars. Tou know I told you, on the morning I called to 
offer you an equal share of the stock, that it might prove 
better than an investment in the bank." 

21. During this announcement, Mr. Hawley's eyes were 
bent intently upon the ground, and, drawing a deep sigh, he 
moved on, dejected and sad, while Mr. Barton returned to 
his place of business with his mind cheered and animated 
by tbonghta of his singnlar investment. * 




HuTHUnn and DAWrlplitm.— HoBmr Sodteit. 

ntOBin SocTiiKT, > dl«t)iigiilsbed poet and proie writer, bom In Biiitnl, BnglUld, 

In ITM ; died In 13<S. In 181B he wu appolnt«l poet Iourm(«— an officer wboee bnal- 

nen 11 1b to compow an ode ammallr, for tbe kdng'g blrUidnj, and other enitable 

In tbe year 1104, daring tbe"War or tbe SpanlBbSacceSBlon''—B'wuiTUcharom 
ont of oppoetng claims to the Ibroue ofSpaln, Ihe AaBtrlimB and the BugllBh, >sd b; 
Prince Bagene and tbe Oake of UarlboioDgh (mgwI'hrlUi), defeated tbe Francb aad 
BBTsrlana at Slen'helm, a small rlliage of Western BsTarlK, on tbelluiab& In the 
Iblloiring nirratlve and descrlptlie poem, tbe Ignorance of the old peauDt as to 
"what tbej ki1l«d each otberfor," and "wbat good came of it at laef (wblch mlsbl 
be appropiiatelf asked of mas; other great battles), Is a flttlng commentarfon the 
glory of "IhB/anunHTlctory." In tbie leuoD.DirratiOD and description are so com- 
bined— as In nuHit of what li called narnHHW poetrf— that il Is dUBcnlt to tell wblcb 
la most prominent ; and It la sometimes difficult to draw the line between the twoij 

1. It was & summer evening', 

Old Kaspar's work was done*, 
And he, before his cottage door', 

Was sitting in the sun' ; 
And by him sported, on tbe green', 
His little grandchild Wilhelmlne. 

2. She saw her brother Petertin 

Roll something large and round, 
Which he\ beside tbe rivulet', 

In playing' there', h".d found' ; 
He came to ask what he had found. 
That was so large, and smooth, and round. 

3. Old Eaapar took it from th« boy, 

Who stood expectant by' ; 
And then the old man shook his head. 

And with a natural sigh — 
"Tis some poor fellow's skull'," said he, 
" Who fell in the great victory. 

. " I find them in the garden ; 
• For there's many here abont; 

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And often^ when I go to plow'. 

The plowshare turns them ont: 
For many thousand men," said he, 
"Were slain in that great victory." 

B, "Now tell DB what 'twas all about'," 

Tonng Peterkin, he cries' ; 
"While little Wilhelmlne looks up 

With wonder- waiting eyes; 
"Now tell us all about the war', 
And what they kiHed each other for." 

6. "It was the English," Kaspar cried, 

." Who put the French to rout' ;— r 
But what they killed' each other for', 

I could not well make out. 
But every body said"," quoth he", 
" That 'twas sT famous'^ victory'. 

7. "My father lived at Blenheim then, 

Ton little stream, hard by ; 
They burnt his dwelling to the ground. 

And be was forced to fly ; 
So, with his wife and child, he €ed, 
Nor had he where to rest his head. 

8. " With fire and sword, the country round 

Was wasted, far and wide; 
And many a nursing mother then, 

And newborn baby died ; 
But things' like that', you know', must bo~ 
At every yamoMs' victory'. 

9. "They say it was a shocking sight, 

After the field was won; 
For many thousand bodies here 

Lay rotting in the sun ; — 
But things like that', you know', mvat be" 
After a famous^ victory'. 



10, "Great praise the Bake of Marlbrough won, 

And our good prince, Engene." 
" Why\ 'twas a very wicked thingT^ 

Said little Wilhelmlne. 
"Nay — nay — my little girl," quoth he, 
"It was A famous' victory'. 

11. "And every body praised the Duke, 

Who this great fight did win." 
" But what good' came of it, at last' ?" 

Quoth little Peterkin. 
" Why — that I can not tell," said he, 
'■ But" 'twae Jifamoua" victory' I" 


T. S.AaTHni. 
[T. S. Annm, born DearKewbnrg, N.T., la 1801). HIamitliiES are moHlj works 
of llctioD ot B damestlc moral character, of wUch he has pabllibed mare than OR; 
Tolamea, besides muneniiiB tales Is a chew lona. lu thli leuon etUI nwre of de- 
Bdiptlon Ib Inlenalugledwltb tbensmtlantbantathe piandlnglenoDB. Thnii,li) . 
the Aral Terw, not anlj 1B tbe cbaricter of De Hontfott deeciibed,bDt the cbsnictM;.''^R|t 
oTtlie ijie also Innhichhellied. Let the pDpl1nowt«1lKb&t portloDB of ttie JegMni 
nre nairntlve, and irbat ace deMrlptlTe. It la very plain what moral \a Intended to 
be dnwn tcata (he lesaoD.1 

I. THB KNIGirr. 

1. Sm Gut de Mohtfobt was as brave a knight as ever 
laid lance in rest, or swung hia glittering battle-axe. He 
posseBsed many noble and generous qualities ; but they were 
obscured, alas 1 by the strange thirst for human blood that 
marked the age in which he lived — an age when "Love 
yonr friends and hate your enemies" had taken the place of 
that better precept, " But I say unto you, love your ene- 
mies ; bless them that curse yon ; do good to them that 
hate you ; and pray for them which despitefuUy use you 
and persecute you." 

2. Ten knights as brave as Sir Guy, and possessing as 
many noble and generous qualities, had fallen beneath his 
superior strength and skill in arms ; and for this the bright 



eyes ot beauty looked admiringly upon him — fair lips Bmiled 
when he appeared, and minstrela sang of hia prowess. 

3. At a great tournament, given in honor of the marriage 
of the king's daughter. Sir Guy sent forth hia challenge to 
single and deadly combat ; but, for two days, no one ac- 
cepted this challenge, although it was three times proclaim- 
ed by the herald. On the third day, a young and strange 
knight rode, with vla'or down, into the lists. His slender 
form, his carriage, and all that appertained to him, showed 
him to be no match for Guy de Montfort — and so it proved. 
They met — and Sir Guy's lance, at the first tilt, penetrated 
the coraelet of the brave young knight and entered his heart. 
As he rolled upon the ground, his casque flew off, and a 
shower of sunny curls fell over his fair young face and neck. 

4. Soon the strange news went thrilling from heart to 
heart that the youthfiil knight who had kissed the dust be- 
neath the sharp steel of De Montfort was a maiden ! and 
none other than the beautiful, high-spirited Agnes StBer- 
trand, whose father Sir Guy had killed, but a few months 
before, in a combat to which he had challenged him. By 
order of the king the tournament was auapended, and knights 
and ladies gay went back to their homes, thoughtful, sad, 
and sorrowing, 

6. Alone in his castle, with the grim faces of his ancestors 


looking down upon him from the wall, Sir Gny paced to and 
fro with harried steps. The Angel of Mercy was nearer 
to him than she had been for yeai-s, and her wbispere were 
distinctly heard. Glory and fame were forgotten by the 
knight, for self was forgotten. 

6. The qnestion — a strange question for him — "What 
good^ f" arose in his mind. He had killed St. Bertrand — bnt 
why' ? To add another leaf to his laurels as a brave knight. 
But was this leaf worth its cost — the broken heart of.the 
fairest and loveliest maiden in the land'? nay, more — the 
life-drops from that broken heart'? 

7. For the first time the flush of triumph was chilled by 
a remembrance of what the triumph had cost him. Then 
came a shudder aa he thought of the lovely widow who 
drooped in Amo Castle— of the wild pang that snapped the 
heart-strings of De Cresay's biide, when she saw the battle- 
axe go crashing into her husband's brain— of the beautiful 
betrothed of Sir Gilbert de Marion, now a, shrieking maniac 
^-of Agnes St. Bertrand I 

8. As these sad images came up before the knight, his 
pace grew more rapid, and his brows, upon which large 
beads of sweat were standing, were clasped between his 
hands with a gesture of agony. "And what for all this'?" 
he murmured. " What for all this' ? Am I braver or bet- 
ter for such bloody work' ?" 

9. Through th« long night he paced the hall of his castle, 
but with daydawn he rode forth alone. The sun rose and 
set; the seasons came and went; years passed; but^the 
knight returned not. 

H. THE HEBinr, 

10. Far from the busy scenes of life dwelt a pions recluse, 
who, in prayer, ^ting, and various forms of penance, sought 
to find repose for his troubled soul. His food was pulse, 
and his drink the pure water that went sparkling in the sun- 
light past his hermit-eell in the wilderness. Now and then 
a traveler who had lost his way, or an eager hunter in pur^ 
suit of game, met this lonely man in his deep seclusion. To 
BDflh be spoke eloquently (^ the vanitiea of life, and of the 



msdom of tboBe wbo, reDOUDcing these vanities, devote them- 
selv^ to Ood : and they left him, believing the hei-mlt to be 
a wise and happy man. 

11. Bnt they erred. The days came and went'; the sea- 
Bons changed'; years paased'; andstUl the hermit'e prayers 
went up at nioming, and the setting sun looked upon his 
kneeling form\ His body was bent, thoagb not with age' ; 
his long hair whitened, but not with the snows of many win- 
ters\ Yet all availed not. Thesolitaryonefoundnotinpray- 
er and penance that peace which passeth all understanding. 

12, One night he dreamed in his cell that the Angel of 
Mercy came to him, and said: "It is in vain — all in vain! 
Art thoa not a man, to whom power has been given to do 
good to thy fellow-man'? Thou callest thyself God's serv- 
ant ; but where is thy work' ? I see it not. Where are the 
hungry thou hast fed' ? the naked thou hast clothed' ? the 
sick and the prisoner who have been visited by thee' ? They 
are not hei-e in the wilderness !" 

13. The angel departed, and the hermit awoke. "Where 
is my work' ?" he asked, as he stood with his hot brow un- 
covered in the cool air, "The stars are moving in their 
courses ; the trees are spreading forth their branches and 

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ri^g to beaven; and the stream flows on to the ocean; 
btit I, superior to all these — I, gifted with a will, an nnder- 
standing, and active energies — am doiDg no work! 

14. Morning came, and the hermit saw the bee at its la- 
bor, the bird building its nest, and the worm Epinning its 
silken thread. And is there no work for man, the noblest 
of all created things' f said be. 

15. The hermit knelt in prayer, but found no utterance. 
Where was his work ? " De Montfort I it is vain 1" he ex- 
claimed. "There must be work, as well as penance and 
prayer." He arose from hia prostrate attitude. When 
night came, the hermit's cell was tenantless. 

m. THE MAN. 

16. A fearful plague raged in a great city. In the nat^ 
row streets, where the poor were crowded together, the hot 
breath of the pestilence withered up hundreds in a day. 
Those not stricken down, fled, and left the suffering and the 
dying to their fate. 

IT. In the midst of these dreadAil Boenes, a man clad in 
plain garments — a stranger — entered the plague-stricken 
city. The flying inhabitants warned Mm of the peril he was 
about encountering, but, heeding them not, he took his way 
with a firm step to the most infected regions. 

18. In the first house that he entered he found a young 
maiden alone, and almost in the agonies of death ; and her 
feeble cry was for something to slake her burning thirst. 
He placed to her lips a cool draught, of which she drank 
eageriy; then he sat down to watch by her dde. In a lit- 
tle while the hot fever began to abate, and the sufferer slept. 
Then he lifted her in his arms, and bore her beyond the city 
walls, where the air was pnrer, and where were those ap- 
pointed to receive and minister to the sick, 

19, For weeks the plague hovored with its black wings 
over that devoted city ; and during the whole time, this 
stranger to all the inhabitants passed from house to house, 
supporting a dying head here, giving drink to such as were 
almost mad with thirst there, and bearing forth in his arms 
those for whom there was any hope of life. But when " the 

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pestilence that valketb in darkneBa and wasteth at noon- 
day" had left the city, he was nowhere to be foand. 

20. For years the caBtle of De Montfort was without a 
lord. At )aet its knightly owner returned — not on mailed 
charger, with corselet, casque, and spear' — a boastful knight, 
with hands crimsoned by his brother's blood' — nor as a pious 
devotee from his cloister' ; bnt as a man'', from the city where 
he had done good deeds amid the dying and the dead. He 
came to take possession of his stately castle and his broad 
lands once more ; not to glory in his proud elevation, bnt to 
use the gifts with which God had endowed him, in making 
wiser, better, and happier his fellow-men. 

21. He had work to do, and he was faithful in its per- 
formance. He was no longer a knight-errant, seeking for 
adventure wherever brute courage promised to give him re- 
nown ; he was no longer an idle hermit, shrinking from his 
work in the great harvest-fields of life; but he was a man, 
doing valiantly among his fellow-men truly noble deeds — 
not deeds of blood, but deeds of moral daring, in an age 
when the real uses of life were despised by the titled few. 

22. There were the bold Knight, the pious Hermit, and 
the Man ; but the Mah" was best and grealMt of alU 


lAndly»lt.—l. Extent to which Deacrlptlon Is iu«d S. The test of what EX' 

tract from Blaib. How deecriptton.iB treated by a wtlter of the InCerior claee.— B. 
Bj awriterorgeDiDS.— 4. Chief beaut; of deacriptian. Irving as a deecrlptive prose 

writei.— B. Where the deacrJptlve fsxnllj Is oftea seen. Extrnct frum Hokaok 6. 

The poet Tbonuoii I. Eitiact from Tuokboh'b Seanmi.—S, Bitract from Jobn- 

BOK. The style or descrlptlDn adapted to different scenea and objectt. What every 
complete description reqnires.— ID. What kind of description Ib moet effective, and 
why. What writers excel in it. lUnstratlons trom the Biblk. 

1. Wb have spoken o{ description in connection with nar- 
ration, inaBmuch as both are often combined in the same 
subject Description, like narration, is seldom employed en- ■■ 
tirely alone in a composition of any great length, although 
often fonnd alone in detached pieces : but it enters into all 
tinds of composition, and, when well executed, is a great or- 
nament to all 

2. Description, whether found in poetry or in prose, is the 
best test of a writer's imagination. In the language of Dr. 
Blair, "It always distinguishes an original from a second- 
rate genius. To a writer of the inferior class, nature, when 
at any time he attempts to describe it', appears exhausted 
by those who have gone before him in the same track. He 
sees nothing new, or peculiar, in the object which he would 
pmnt'; his conceptions of it are loose and vague'; and bis 
expressions', of conrse', feeble and general. He gives us 
words' rather than ideas" ; we meet with the language of 
description', but we apprehend the object described very in- 
distinctly. , 

8. "Awriterof genins, on the contrary, makes us imagine 
that we see an object before our eyes' ; he catches the dis- 
tinguishing features'; he gives it the colors of life and real- 
ity" J he places it in such a light that a painter could copy 
after him. This happy talent is chiefly owing to a strong 
imagination, which first receives a lively Impression of the 

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object, and then, by employing a proper Belection of circnm- 
etanoes in describing it, transmits that impreraion in its loll 
force to the imagination of others." 

4. One of the chief be aaties of description consists in lay- 
ing hold of such incidents 6» make a sudden and strong im- 
pression upon the mind — something that one can almost see, 
or hear, or feel, with all the vividness of the reality. Wash- 
ington Irving excels as a descriptive prose writer ; and in 
his writings are found numerous examples of the kind of 
beauty here referred to, in which a single well-chosen cir- 
cumstance often lights up the description, as if a flash of 
sunlight had fallen upon the scene.* 

5. This descriptive faculty, which ia a mark of true genius, 
is often seen in small things, and apparently trifling incidents, 
just as, in a picture, some one object — and perhaps an acces- 
sory one too — arrests the attention, and throws its charm 
over the whole. Thus, in the following brief description, in 
which the farmer and the sailor appeal to Fortune to favor 
them, tbe last line paints a vivid picture of the sailor, while 
the farmer, spoken of in general terms only, is thrown en- 
tirely into the background ; 

"Thee~", Ihe poor former's anxiooB care 
Soliciu, tbat hU fields ma; bear' : — 
T)iee~' ', mistresH of (lie main, the sailor hails. 
At Ail Bitkynian hark o'er Cretan biUomi aalt." — Hobacb. 

6. The poet Thomson, in describing the pestilence that 
destroyed the EngliBh fleet at Carthagena, in 1741, under 
Admiral Vernon, adds greatly to the effect of an already 
striking picture, by introducing, in the two closing lines, the 
single circumstance of the Admiral listeningi^o-the melan- 
choly sound of dead bodies thrown overbosjrd every night : 

7. Ton, gallant Vamon',* saw 

The miserable Bi:eDe' ; joa', pitjing', saw 
To infant weakness sunk tbe warrior's arms' ; 
Saw the deep racking pang' ; (he ghastl; form' ; 
The lip pale qmv'ring' ; and the beamless eve" 
No more with ardor bright' ! you heard the groans 
Of sgonizing ships from shore to ahore' ; 

* Soni«Tei7 etilklDg «iBmp1es of this kind, la Irvine's wrlliogs, ma; be (bund in 

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Btard mght^ plvnfftiT, amid the tuSen mtvtJ, 
T^ejitqtient cotm', — Tbokson's Seatom. 

8. With reference to ThomaoD's vivid powers of descrip- 
tioD, v/e qnote the following from Dr. Johnson : 

" His descriptions of extended scenes and geoecal effects 
bring before ua the whole magnificence of nature, whether 
pleasing or dreadful The gayety of spring', the splendor 
of summer', the tranquillity of autumn', and the horror of 
winter', take', in their turn', possession of the mind'. The 
poet leads us throngh the appearances of tbin^ as they 
are successively varied by the vicissitudes of the year, and 
imparts to us so much of his own enthusiasm, that our 
thoughts expand with his imagery, and kindle with his sen- 

9. In describing scenes of a gay, smiling, or quiet nature', 
such as the charms of country life', a diffuse style, with much 
amplification, is allowable': but in describing solemn or great 
objects', and also when a sublime or a pathetic impression ia 
intended', it is only the concise manner, that calls up sudden 
and bold images, that is appropriate. And as life and action 
are requisite in every good painting', so should every com- 
plete description of natural objects — which is but a painting 
in words — be enlivened by the presence of living beings. 

10. Moreover, a description of partietdar things is much 
more effective than a description of things in general/ for 
it ia only of particular objects that images can be formed in' 
the mind. Thus a hill, a river, or a lake, engages the atten- 
tion, and enlists the fancy, far more effectively, when some 
particular hill, river, or lake is specified, than when the terms 
are left general. The descriptions in Homer, and Virgil, and 
Horace, and Milton, and Thomson, abound with particulars 
that may be seen by the eye of fancy: and Shakspeare is no 
less remarkable for avoiding the use of general terms. In 
the Song of Solomon, it is not a rose, a lily, a fiock, or a 
stream in general, that is used to set off the description ; 
but it is "the rose of Sharon'/" "the lily o/the vaUeys''/" 
"the flock which feeds on Mount GHead/" and "the stream 
which comeafrom Z^anon'/" whereby a living interest at- 
taches to every scene that is mentioned. 



[Bbtjih Wallii pBOOrn, one or the moat dellghlftil orBngUeh poets, was boTD 
In the fear 1190. He ie bettci knowa nnder tbe asBamed name of AnrrjF OimiaiU. 

The clrcnmsUan oT the nvea, mentlODed at the close or Uie second Teno of this 
JesBOD, Is one of those besatlsa of deserlptlan mentioned in veise 4 of tbe pracedliiE 
lesson. 1 

1. I BAw a pauper' once, when I was young'. 

Borne to his shallow grave' : the bearers trod 
Smiling to where the death-bell heavily rung ; 

And soon his bones were laid beneath the sod: 
On the rough boards the earth was gayly f ung ; 

Methought the prayer which gave him to his God 
Was coldly said ; — then all, passing away, 
Left the scarce coifin'd wretch to quick decay. 

2, It was an autumn evening', and the rain 

Had ceased a while', but the lond winds did shriek, 
And called the deluging tempest back again; 

The flag-staff on the chnrch-yard tower did creak, 
And through the black clouds ran a lightning van : 

And then the dapping raven came to seek 
Its home ; its flight was heavy, and its wing 
Seem'd weary with a long day's wandering. 




[Bj "Mitrk Tiialn," a psendonTme of Samuel L. Clemens, on American prose writer.] 

1. The full moon was rising high in the cloudless heavens. 
We sauntered carelessly and unthinkingly to the edge of 
the lofty battlements of the citadel, and looked down — a vis- 
ion' I And such a vision' 1 Athens by moonlight' ! The 
prophet, who thought the splendors of the New JeruEalem 
were revealed to him, surely saw this instead 1 

2. It lay in the level plain, right under onr feet — all spread 

=^-h, Google 


abroad like a picture — and we looked down upon it as we 
might have looked from a balloon. We saw no semblance 
of a street; but every bouse, every window, every clinging 
vine, every projection was as distinct and aharply marked 
as if the time were noonday : and yet there was no glare, no 
glitter, nothing harsh or repulsive — the noiseless city was 
flooded with the mellowed light that ever streamed from 
the moon, and seemed like some living creature wrapped in 
peaceM slumber. 

3. On its farther side was a little temple, whose delicate 
pillars and ornate front glowed with a rich lustre that chain- 
ed the eye like a spell ; and nearer by, the palace of the kmg 
reared its creamy walls out of the midst of a great garden 
of shrubbery that was flecked all over with a random show- 
er of amber lights — a spray of golden sparks that lost tbeir 
brightness in the glory of the moon, and glinted softly upon 
the sea of dark foliage like the pallid stars of the milky way. 
Overhead" the stately columns, majestic still in their ruin' 
— underfoot the dreaming city' — in the distance the silver 
sea' — not on the broad earth is there another picture half so 
beautiful t 

Pram Xbt French of Pidor Buga. 

[U.VioTOB Hmjo, B noted and voIamlnoiiB French pMt, norellit, *nd pollticd 
»riter,waeboralnl80S. He haa beencompeilea lole«TBPiiiBoeon scconntofUB 
oppDcdtioa to LooIh Napoleon. 

The ftliowlng poem la moaOj deacriptlTfl.- hnttho flrat line of the !d »er«e ladi- 
dacHe («ee p. W) ; »nd the Bd Teres la parUj dldacHc and parti j descriptive. The iasi 
tbree lines of the leaaoD contra a beanttfnl almlls. (See8(BifIs,p.lll.)] 

1. Mr daughter"', go and pray' ! See", night is come ; 
One golden planet pierces through the gloom ; 

Trembles the misty outline of the hill. 
Listen I the distant wheels in darkness glide — 
All else is hushed ; the tree by the roadside 

Shakes in the wind its dust-strewn branches stilL 

2. Day is for evil, weariness, and pain. 

Let us to prayer ! calm night is come again : 



The wind among the ruined towers bo bare 
Sighs mournfully : the herds, the docks, the streamB', 
Atr sufiTer', all complain^ ; worn nature eeemB 

Longing for peace, for slnmber, and for prayer. 

8. It is the hour when babes with angels speak. 
While we are rushing to our pleasures weak 

And siniiil, all young children, with bent knees. 
Eyes raised to Ileaven, and small hands folded fair. 
Say at the self-same hour the self-same prayer 

On our behalf, to Him who all things sees. 

4. And then they sleep. Oh peaceful cradle-sleep''" ! 

Oh childhood's hallowed prayer''"; religion deep 

Of love\ not fear", in happiness expressed' 1 

a. So the young bird, when done its twilight lay 

Of praise, folds peacefully at shut of day 

Its head beneath its wing, and sinks to rest, 


•Writtwi in 18*7.^1aei TwiiH (SiiniiL L. CLmnHB). 

1. Toward dusk we drew near Milan, and caught 
glimpses of the city and the blue mountain peaks beyond. 
But we were not caring for these things — they did not in- 
terest us in the least. We were in a fever of impatience ; 
we were dying to see the renowned cathedral ! We watch- 
ed in this direction and that — all around — every where. 
We needed no one to point it out — we did not wish any one 
to point it out — we would recognize it, even in the desert of 
the great Sahara. 

2. At last a forest of graceful needles, shimmering in the 
amber sunlight, rose slowly above the pigmy house-tops, as 
one sometimes sees, in the lar hori'zon, a gilded and pin- 
nacled mass of clond lift itself above the waste c^ waves at 
sea — the Cathedral' 1 We knew it in a moment. 

8. Half of that night, and all of the next day, this arcU- 



tectaral autocrat was our sole object of interest What a 
wonder it is' 1 So grand\ bo solemn', so vast' J And yet' 
so delicate', so ^ry', so graceful' ! A very world of solid 
weight' ; and yet it seems, in the soft moonlight, only a fairy 
delusion of fixiBt^work, that might vanish with a breath' ! 
How sharply its pinnacled angles kod its wilderness of spires 
were cat gainst the sky'; and how richly their shadows 
iell npon its snowy roor I It was a vision' 1 a miracle' ! an 
anthem sang in stone", a poem wrought in marble' I 

4. Howsoever you look at the great Cathedral, it is noble, 
it is beautiful' 1 Wherever yon stand in Milan, or within 

n,<jr.=^-h, Google 


seven miles of Milan, it ia visible — and when it is visible, no 
other object can claim your whole attention. Leave your 
eyes unfettered by your will but a single instant, and they 
will BUi-ely turn to seek it. It is the first thing you look for 
when you rise in the morning, and the last your lingering 
gaze rests upon at night. Surely it must be the most prince- 
ly creation that ever brain of man conceived. 

6. At nine o'clock in the morning we went and stood be- 
fore this marble colossus. The central one of its five great 
doors is bordered with a bas-relief* of birds, and fruits, and 
beasts, and insects, which have been so ingeniously carved 
out of the marble that they eeem like living creatures; and 
the figures arc so numerous, and the designs so complex, that 
one might study it a week without exhausting its interest 

6. On the great Steeple — surmounting the myriad of 
spires — inside of the spires — over the doors, the windows — 
in nooks and comers — every where that a niche or a perch 
can be found about the enormous building, from summit to 
base, there is a marble statue, and every statue is a study in 
itself! Raphael, Angelo, Canova — giants like these gave 
birth to the designs, and their own pupils carved them. 
Every face is eloquent with expression, and every attitude 
is full of grace. Away above, on the lofty roof, rank on 
rank of carved and fretted spires spring high in the air, and 
through their rich tracery one sees the sky beyond. In their 
midst the central steeple towers proudly up likethe main- 
mast of some great Indiaman among a fieet of coasters. 

7. We wished to go aloft. The sacristan" showed us a 
marble stairway (of coarse it was marble, and of the purest 
and whitest — there is no other stone, no brick, no wood, 
among its building materials), and told us to go up one 
hundred and eighty-two. steps, and stop till be came. It 
was not necessaiy to say stop — we should have done that 
any how. We were tired by the time we got there. 

8. This was the roof Here, springing from its broad 
marble flagstones were the long files of spires, looking very 
tall close at hand, but diminishing in the distance like the 
pipes of an organ. We could see, now, that the statue on 
the top of each was the size of a lai^ man, though they all 

r:,,r.=.i by Google 


looked like dolla from the street We conld Bee, also, that 
from the inside of each and eveiy one of these follow spireB, 
from sixteen to thirty-one beautifiil marble statnea looked 
out upon the world below. 

9. From the eaves to the comb of the roof stretched, in 
endless sncc^sion, great curved marble beams, like the fore 
and aft braces of a steam-boat; and along each beam, from 
end to end, stood up a row of richly-carved flowers and 
fraits — each separate and distinct in kind, and over fifr«en 
thousand species represented. At a little distance these 
rows seem to close together like the ties of a railroad tra<!k; 
and then the mingling together of the bnds and blosBOms of 
this marble garden forms a picture of exceeding beauty. 

10. We descended and entered. Within the church, long 
rows of fiated oolumna, like hnge nionnments, divided the 

' building into broad aisles; and on the figured pavement fell 
many a soft blush from the painted windows above. I knew 
the church was very large, but I could not fully appreciate 
ItB great size until I noticed that the men standing far down 
by the altar looked like boys, and seemed to glide rather 
than walk. 

11. Wo loitered about, gazing aloft at the monster win- 
dows all aglow with brilliantly colored scenes in the lives 
of the Savior and his followers. Some of these pictures are 
mosaics ; and so artistically are their thousand particles of 
tinted glass or stone put together^that the work has all the 
BmoothnesH and finish of a painting. We counted sixty 
panes of glass in one window, and each pane was adorned 
with one of these master achievements of genius and patience. 

12. For the purpose of viewing tbe treasures of the church, 
we followed a priest into a large room filled with tall wood- 
en presses like wardrobes. He threw them open, and behold! 
the cat^oes of crude bullion of the assay offices of Nevada 
faded out of my memory. There were Virgins and bishops 
there, above their natural size, made of solid silver, each 
worth, by weight, from one hundred and sixty thousand to 
three hundred thousand dollars, and bearing gemmed books 
in their hands worth fifteen thousand : there were b&s-reliefs'' 
that weighed six hundred pounds, carved in solid silver; 



croEters andcrosBeSttuidcandleeticks six and eight feet high, 
all of virgin gold, and brilliant with precious stonee : and 
beside these were all manner of cups and vases, and otfaei' 
things, rich in proportion. It was aa A^'din's palace ! 
The treasui^ here, by simple weight, without counting 
workmanship, were valued at ten millions of dollars 1 

13. I like to revel in the drjest details of the great ca- 
thedral. The building is nearly five hundred feet long, by 
three hundred feet wide ; and the principal steeple is in the 
neighborhood of four hundred feet high. It has more than 
seven thousand marble statues, and will have upward ol' 
three thousand more when it is finished. In addition, it has 
one thousand five hundred has-reliefs. It has one hundred 
and thirty-six spires — twentyone more are to be added. 
Each spire is surmounted by a statue six and a half feet 
high. It is estimated that it will take a hundred and twen- 
ty years yet to finish the cathedral; and already the mere 
workmaoship alone has cost considerably over a hundred 
millions of dollars. The building looks complete, but is far 
from being so. We saw a new statue put in its niche yes- 
terday, alongside of one which bad been standing these four 
hundred years. 

14. There are four stairci^s leading up to the main steeple, 
each of which, with the fourhundred and eight statues which 
adorn them, cost a hundred thousand dollars. Marco Cam- 
pioni was the architect who designed this wonderful struc- 
ture, more than five hundred years ago ; and it took him 
forty-six years to work out the plan, and get it ready to 
hand over to the builders. The building was begun a little 
less than five hundred years ago; and the third generation 
hence will not see it completed. 

• Mfl'in, or MUsii'. The beil neage fliTOri! the (brmer pronondaUon. All the 

eU place the accent on the tint lyllBble. Bfron nud Hoore rfarme U with wOlaln, 
™e "Poetical Compoaltloii," pnge 888, Nolo. 

■> Bils-relief (hs-re-leef) { a.)io epelted aod prononnced biu re tUf: a apecLes dT 
Hcnlptore, Itie fl^rea of which dnnot Btaad oat fbr fmm thB grcmnd. 

■ Slc'ilslan ; a seitoD, or other officer o( tbe chnnJi, who hiia care of the ntenetls, 




A Trae StOiT. KmMIt* sod I>MerfptloiL— Jovir G, VHtmnt. 
N ORnnmir WaiTTm, a dUUnglebed Anwiieao pott ind prase writ 
Ml tba Q<«vk«r i^KQ, ■» bom *t Haverbltl.Uuiachawtls, Id m&) 

1. Up from the meadows rich with corn', 
Clear in the cool SepteioV>er mom', 
The clnatered apires of Frederick Btand', 
Oreen walled by the bills of Marylaod'. 

2. Ronod aboDt them orchards sweep, 
Apple and peach tree fruited deep, 
Fair as a garden of the Lord 

To the eyes of the famished rebel horde. 
On that pleasant mom of the early fall. 
When Lee marched over the mountain-wall,— 
Over the mountains' winding down'. 
Horse and foot', into Frederick town'. 

3. Forty flags' with their silver stars', 
Forty flags' with their crimson bars'. 
Flapped in the morning wind' : the sun 
Of noon looked down', and saw not one. 

4. ITp rose old Barbara Frietchie then, 
Bowed with her fonrscore years and ten; 
Bravest of all in Frederick town. 

She took up the flag the men hauled down ; 
In her attic window the staff she set, 
To show that one heart was loyal yet. 

5. Up the street came the rebel tread, 
Stonewall Jackson riding ahead ; 
Under his slouched hat, left and right, 
He glanced : — the old flf^ met his nght. 

■ ii,Gi:H)(^Ie 


"Halt I" — the dust-brown ranks stood &8t 
"Fire!" — out blazed the rifle bUst. 

It shivered the windowjpane and sash; 
It rent the banner with seam and gaeh. 

6. Qnick as it fell from the broken staff, 
Pame Barbara snatched the silken scarf; 

She leaned far ont on the window-sill. 
And shook it forth with a royal will : 

"Shoot, if you must, this old gray head,— 
But spare your country's flag I" she said. 
1. A shade of sadness, a blush of shame, 
Over the face of the leader came; 

The nobler nature within him stirred 
To life at that woman's deed and word. 

"Who touches a hur of yon gray head, 
Dies like a dog ! March on !" he said. 

8. All day long throngh Frederick street 
Sounded the tread of marching feet; 

All day long that iree flag tossed 
Over the heads of the rebel host. 
Ever its torn folds rose and fell 
On the loyal winds that loved it well; 
And through the hill-gaps sunset light 
Shone over it with a warm good-night. 

9. Barbara Frietchie'a work is o'er, 

And the Rebel rides on his raids no more. 

Honor to her' 1 — and let a tear 
Fall, for her sake', on Stonewall's bier'. 
10. Over Barbara Frietchie's grave. 
Flag of Freedom and Union wave 1 
Peace, and order, and beauty, draw 
Round thy symbol of light Mid law ; 

r:,,r.=^i by Google 


And ever the Btara above look down 
Oq tby stars below at Frederick towu ! 

A Deecrlpti>« Baliid.-— Tuomib Tfoiu 
lAs Ibfl flret reqnlslte of giiod reading le to give s trntlinil 
tboDt^U fkod Ibelluga ar Clw writer, M> tu the followliiK t»Uad, which la o[ 
power and beaalj, a aing-tang tmie ol reading the driver's rtfrain Ib required, ItThar- 
iDoniiewlIh the eeuee, the poetic movemaalaf the wnrd>,aad the scene represent- 
ed. Indeed, ne we read the dirge which the driver slugt, we can scarcely avoid alng- 
lug It too, aad with BhladofcareleBesadneBU, which, la the dovlliK of the flllh Terse, 
ehangas Co a plaintive, pathetic, and Impressive repreot 

The reading of the piece shoald gradually change n-nm a rapid movemeHt, and the 
tone DTIight and trivial description at the heglsning, to slow mDvemeDt, and the ex- 
preuloD of soleton and deep feeling in the fifth verse. Obaeneiha force of the rhe- 
lorbiU paiatt.i 

1. There's a grim one-horse hearse, iu a jolly round trot ; 
To the church-yard a pauper is going, I wot ; 

The road it is rough, and the hearse has no springs, 
And hark to the dirge which the ead driver sings ; 
'^ Battle his bones" over the stones' ; 
He's only a pauper', whom nobody'owns"." 

2. Oh where are (he moumerB' ? alas ! there are none ; 
He has left not a gap in the world now he's gone; 
Not a tear in the eye of child, woman, or man : 

To the grave with his carcass as fast as you can. 
"" Rattle his bones" over the stones' ; 
He's only a pauper", whom nobody owns'." 

3. What a jolting, and creaking, and splashing, and din I 
The whip how it cracks, and the wheels how they epiii I 
How the dirt right and left o'er the hedges is hurled I 
The pauper at length makes a noise In the world 1 

'^"Rattle his bones" over the stones'; 
He's only a pauper', whom nobody owns'." 

4. Poor panper defunct' I he has made some approach 
To gentility', now that he's sti-etched in a coach' ; 

•Thetal'Eod. Be* Ljric Faatir, p. ttl. 



He's taking a drive ia his carriage at last, 
But it will not be long if ho goes on so fast : 
'*' Rattle hia bones" over the stones'; 
He's only a pauper', whom nobody owns'." 

6. Bat a truce to this strain', for my soul" it is sad", 

To think that a heart, in humanity clad", 

Should make", like the brutea", such a desolate end'. 

And depart from the light" without leaving a friend. 

^^Beaf aoftly~ hU bones' over the stones: [ovms. 

^^Thotigh a pAugter', h^s one whom hia MXkbb yet 

LESSON srv. 


1. A LnTLE more than ten yearB ago, California lay in the 
indolence and silence of that summer noonday in which ehe 
had been basking for agea. A few idle villages slept by the 
ahorea of ber baya ; a few squalid ranches dotted the interi- 
or with patches of wretched cultivation. There were herds 
of cattle in her valleys, but they were almoat valueless for 
the want of a market. There were churches, but their chim- 
ing bells woke only the echoes of a vast aolitude, 

2. The sun ripened only the harveat of wild oats on the 
hills, and the beasts of prey made their laira in security close 
by the abodes of men. Seldom did a merchant ship spread 
her white winge in the offing ; seldom did the vaque'ro,' in 
hia solitary rounds, hear the dip of the oar upon our rivers. 
Silence, deep and everliuting, brooded over all the land ; 
and the lone oaks on the hills appeared like sentinels kbep- ' 
ing guard around the sleeping camp of nature. 

3. The cession of the country to the United States by 
Mexico, in 1848, and the discovery of gold in the early part 
of the same year, changed the whole scene as if by the pow- 
er of magic. As in the Naumachia'' of old time, the dry 
arena was. instantly converted into a great lake, on which 
contending navies struggled for the mastery'; bo, instantly, 



on tiie discovery of gold, Caliibmia was filled with jieople, 
as if they had i-isen from the earth. 

4. The port of San Francieco was crowded with vessels. 
The rivers were alive with the multitadea that made them 
their highway; and the din of commerce broke forever the 
silence of centuriea It seemed as if the people had stolen 
the lamp of Aladdin," and wished for the creation, not of pal- 
aces merely, but of royal cities, and an empire of which these 
shoald be the chief places ; and, at their wish, the cities of 
oar state arose, not by slow, toilsome growth, but complete 
and princely at their very birth. 

5. The rattle of the shovel and the pick was heard in ev- 
ery mountain got^e, and a wide stream of gold flowed from 
the sierra to the sea. The plains, rejoicing in their marri^e 
to indnstry, bore fruitfully their yellow harvests. Villages, 
bsmlets, &rm-hausefl, sehools, and churches sprang, up ev- 
ery where ; wharves were built, roads were opened ; stc^e- 
coaches and steamers crowded all profitable routes; lands, 
houses, and labor rose to an enormous value; and plenty, 
with her blesaiiiga, crowned the rolEng year. (See also Les- 
son LXXIIL, p. 184.) 

• V> qjisfro (TB ki'to, Spanlib), a cmrtieid, or cittle-keeper. ■> Sfa mlfhl ft 

(Greek), a upectade reprematlDg a Bea-Ogtat. * A lld'dlii, a cbaracter In the " Ara- 
bian NlghU EutettaliuiiBDU," who becomes pOBKeaasd of a lamp of magica] poveia. 


Gut Huhfbbit HaoHastib. 
(Tbe "Old ConttnBntab"— aoldlan of the Berohitiaii.— The reading of this deacrip- 
(Itb piece leqaJiea *tnii\gfiiTettaip«r« tone, with tbe moat KmorouM orotund v\ier<: 
the emptauls rises Co a clfnuz. Very ranch canbemade of this piece by a good read- 
er or declaimer.J 

1. Ix their ragged regimentals 
Stood the old Continentals, 

Yielding not. 
When the grenadiers were lunging, 
And like hail iell the plunging 
Cannon-shot ; 
When the files 
Of the Isles," 



Prom tlie amoky night encampment bore tbe banner of the 
Unicom ;'' [rampant 

And grummer, obohhbb, ORUMMEIi rolled the roll of the 
Through the morn ! [drut 

2. Then with eyes to the front all, 
And with gnns horiEontal, 

Stood our BireB ; 
And the balls whistled deadly. 
And in streams flashing redly 

Blazed the fires ; 

As the roar, 

On the shore. 
Swept the strong battle-breakers o'er the green-sodded acres 

Of the plain; 
And louder, loudek, LOUDER cracked the black gnnpow- 

Cracking amain ! [der, — 

3. Now, like smiths at their forges, 
Worked the Ted St. €Jeorge'tf= 

And the " villainons saltpetre,"'' 
Bang a fierce, discordant metre 
Round their ears : 
As the switt 
With hot sweeping anger came the horse-guards* clangor 

On onr flanks. 
Then higher, higher, HIGHER bnmed the old-fashioned fire 
Through the ranks ! 

4. Then the old-fashioned colonel 
Galloped through the white infernal 

Powder-cloud ; 
And his broad sword was swinging. 
And his brazen throat was ringing 
Trumpet loud. 
Then the blue 
Bullets flew, 



And the trooper-jaoketB redden at the touch of the leaden 
Rifle-breath ; 

And rounder, boundbb, ROUNDER roared the iron six- 
Hurling death ! [poundei-, 

• The Brldeh lalea. ' A bbnlODB anlmsl with one hom, repi«Mnted on tlie 

BritislioOdtorarmB. ■ St-Oeorge, the pstron salnl of Knglood. ' An ul- 

Inslon to, »na qnotaUon ftom, the speecii of HotBpnr, in Bh«kBpe«re'« M Part King 
HstujIV, {PifaiSiairr,f.K). See "AIIubIous," p, 188. 


Adapted : tTDin G 

1. Ax one period of our Revolution, some companies of 
French troops, who were among those sent over nnder the 
kind Due de Lanzun* and the Count de Rocfaambeau'', to aid 
us in securing our independence, were stationed for a time 
in the little village of Lebanon, where my father's parents 
then resided. From my father, then a mere lad, I have heard 
many stories of the incidents which marked the French oc- 
cupanoy of our vilU^e, and among them the following ao- 

n,<jr.=^-h, Google 


count of an "affiiir of honor,** which created no little sensa- 
tion in that quiet commnnity. Some of the Due de Lau- 
zuh'b* aristocratic young subalterns, not imitating the court- 
esy and modesty of their chie^ were disposed to be rather 
supercilious, and to put on airs toward the young people of 
the town when admitted to their informal parties and mer- 
ry-makings. In this way, a gay, handsome young captain 
gained an unenviable social distinction, and finally came to 

2. At a mral ball, to which he bad managed to gain ad- 
mittance, his roving fiincy was caught by a matic beauty, a 
merry little coquette, who, not having "a soul above but- 
tons," was not ill pleased with his ardent glances and gal- 
lant, broken English ; and who was immensely amused by 
marking the efiect produced, by kis devotion, on tho. coun- 
tenance and demeanor of a certain stalwart young farmer 
present, and lowering darkly in the background, to whom, 
if the truth must be told, this naughty little maid was be- 

3. At last the dashing soldier grew a little too bold and 
aMent in his attentions. The iady became slightly alanned, 
and her lover quite furious. He strode np to the French- 
man, with hU eyes blazing and his hands clenched, but ad- 
dressed him in a cool, steady tone, thus : *' Look here, Mon- 
seer," you French fellows come to America to fight, not to 
make love. So none of your flatterin*, and palaverin', and 
parlez-vousin'^ here. This young woman belongs to tne; and 
you may jest make yourself fcruroe, doable-quick time." 

4. The yonng woman in question turned very white ; Monr 
aieur^ te Capitaine turned very red ; but, seeing that his Yan- 
kee rival looked very black, and was altogether an Ugly cus- 
tomer to deal with on the spot, he merely said, very signifi- 
cantly, " MonBieur" have raieon'. Gertainenxent* we come to 
Am4rique( to fight." Then, bowing low to the lady, h« 
strode hanghtily away, 

"With his Bword cling, ckiig." 

5. The next morning, an elderly French officer, who had 
grown gray in the service, yet had been engaged, as princi- 

r:,,r.=^i by Google 


pal or second, in mor€ dnels than battles, waited on the 
yoDDg farmer, whom he foand in his bara threehing, and 
presented a cartel. The fanner, laying down his flail, very 
deliberately opened the note, and tried to spell ont its con- 
tents ; bnt, as it was in French, he was obUged to get the 
Frenchman to interpret it Somewhat to the surprise of 
that officer, who was eager for some agreeable event to 
breah the monotony of a long winter encampment, he read- 
ily consented to a meeting. The second then reminded him 
that he, as the challenged party, was entitled to the choice 
of weapons. 

6. "I don't care a button what he fights me with. I'm 
ready for him," said the Yankee, rather evasively, wiping 
the sweat and dust off his forehead with a blue cotton hand- 

" Ah ! den we prefare de rc^nir^ — ^what you call de small 
sword. Will dat please Monsieur", eh?" said the officer, bow- 
ing and smiling with overwhelming politeness. 

7. " Oh yea, as well as any thing — small swords or horse- 
piatols ; I ain't particular," replied the farmer, coolly. Then 
the time and place were agreed npon. The Frenchman 
bowed himself out of the bam as out of the presence of roy- 
alty; the former took up his flail and went on with his 
threshing — thump, thump, thump. 

8. Both parties came punctually to the dueling-ground, 
over in the wood, very early on a mild spring morning : the 
gay captain in undress uniform, with the old major, his sec- 
ond, bearing a brace of small swords; the surgeon of the 
l^ion, with his ominous case of instmments, his lint, and ' 
bandages; then the farmer, in yet more undress uniform — 
i &, red flannel shirt, and gray homespun trowsers tucked 
into cowskin boots; his "hired man" for a second, and for 
his weapon the good hickory flail he had been swinging the 
day before I 

9. Great was the astonishment, and voluble was the indig- 
nation of the Frenchmen, when finally made to understand 
that the nutio really intended to fight the duel with this 
ugly rural instrument. But the farmer sturdily stood his 
ground. " I don't know any thing about your toastin'-iroDS," 


he said; "hutldo nuderatand a flaH, and Pvejast made up 
my mind to fight this here duel with a flail. So, Mouseer, 
begin lungin' and pokio' at me juat as quick as you please." 

10. The perplexed captain then dropped down to a Httle 
fiiendly remonstrance, saying, very blandly, " Pardon, Mon- 
aieur, you know not de duel. Permit me to recommend de 
small sword. I lend him wis de most gjeat plaigit*. Mon- 
sieur. You no take him ? you fight wis dat ting ? Seo you, 
I cut wis my rapiire'' dat leetle cordon dat hold de two part 
togedder tout de auit^; and den where will you be, eh f" 

1 1. The farmer laughed careleeely, and a little tauntingly, 
as he replied, "Never mind me, Cap'en. Pm obleeged to 
you. I can look out for myself, I guess. Keep your extra 
small sword to spit your frogs on. PU stick to my fiail. 
And now let's to work, I'm in mtkin' of a harry to git 
back to my other thrashin' job." 

1 2. "3ien^/" said the Frenchman, shrugging his shoulders. 
"IfMonsieur* wilts to die^l put myself at bis service tout d 
/aUy So they took, their positions. 

13. "One! two! three!" atittheywent TheFrenehman 
made a magnificent stroke, aimed at the weak point in his 
adversary's weapoti, but missed, and fell back for a new 
demonstration. Then the Yankee, giving a wliirring swing 
with his flail, brought it down on the head of the captain, 
whack I making the powder fly, and bringing that alert 
swordsman to the ground. He was not killed, but severely 
bruised and somewhat stunned. 

14. For some minutes the farmer stood in his place, lean- . 
' ing on his flail, watching the ministrations of the surgeon ; 

then, as the Frenchman failed to "come to time," and de- 
clared himself satisfied {bien satisfaW"), the victor civilly 
bade the party goed-moruiog and strode from the field, fol- 
lowed by his man, and whistling the new aii of "Yankee 

■ tmi «m' 06 iflngO- >• Bocliambeau' ii6 liioag b6'). <> For tlu Francb vwn- 
tleur' (mo secrO. ■>'. or mliter. ° Parl^i-Krui' (p&r U vSo'). • JMf »n (rS'songJ, 
rauoD. ' Certainement (eer' ten moag), cerUlolf, ' AmMqut (am ft reelO, 

AnwricL *Ba-piirt(tipeire'). > Plaiefr (pIS i^rO, pleaenie. > Tbut(l<«ii0* 
(bw ds >VMt), tmtriedUlelr. < Bien (be oDgOi ver; welL ' Toul d/ait (tdfit Sta If}, 
entirely, ■" (beoog bU la ti'.) 

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LESSON xvn. 


VThe bllowLng homorcHiH dflscriptlve poem Is admirably adapted to the pnrposo 
orreciutlou, bat will fallj tank the powen oTUie recllsrin pictnrlng forth, t^ toIcc 
and geelare, the laiiel; of ueaea described. Tbe ihymlus aUlCentlon ffreqnent re- 
cnnfuce of the uune letters .or loiindi) b the Sd and Bib versss is of tlie aamakliid 
ailliatlDSoatbeT's"CitaTact ofLodore."! 

1. The nataralistB eay that these eiDgiilKF creatures 

Are alike in their habits, their form, and their feataree ; 
The Benedicke' think that their senses are small, 
Whilst women affirm they have no sense at all, 
Bnt are cnrious compounds of very strange stuff. 
Inflexible, hard, and exceedingly tough: — 
The old ones have wigs', and the young ones have hair\ 
And they scent it', and curl it', and tnz it with care', 
And turn it to dark' should it chance to be.&ir'. 

2. They are ramblers' and wanderers*", never at home", 
Making sure of a welcome wherever they roam ; 
And every one knows that the Bachelor's deu 

Is a room set apart for these singular men — 
A nook in the clouds, perhaps five by four. 
Though sometimes, indeed, it may be rather more — 
With skylight, or no light, ghosts, gohlina, and gloom, 
And every where known as the Bachelor's Boom. 

3. These creatures, 'tis said, are not valued at all, 
Except when the herd give a Bachelor's ball; 

Then dress'd in their best, in their gold-broiderod vest, 
'T^s allowed, as a fact, that they act with much tact. 
And they lisp out, "How do?" and they coo, and they sne, 
And they smile for a while, their guests to beguile, 
Condescending and bending, for fear of offending : 
Though inert, they expect to be pert, and to flirt. 
And they turn and they twist, and are great hands at 

And they whirl and they twirl, and they wMsk, and are 



And they whiz and they quiz, and they spy with their eye, 
And they sigh as they fly. 

For they meet to he sweet, and are fleet on their feet. 
Pattering, and flattering, and chattering — 
Spluttering, and fluttering, and buttering — 
Advancing, and glancing, and dancing, and prancing, 
And bumping, and jumping, and stumping, and thufnp- 

Sonnding and bounding around and around, 
And sliding and gliding with minuet'' pace — 
Rrouetting", and sitting with infinite grace. 

4. They like dashing and flashing, lashing and splashing. 
Racing and pacing, chasing and lacing ; 
They are flittering and glittering, gallant and gay. 
Yawning all morning, and lounging all day; 
Love living in London, life loitering away 
At their clubs in the duba*, or with beaux in the rows, 
Or, what's propera, at the opera. 

Reaching home in the morning — fie I fie ! sirs, for shame — 
At an hour, for their eakcB, I won't venture to name. 

G. But when the bachelor-boy .grows old. 
And these butterfly days arepast^ 
When threescore years their tale have told. 
And the days are wet, and the nights are cold. 
And something more is required than gold . 
■ His heart to cheer, and his hearth uphold — 
When, in fact, he finds he's completely sold. 
And the world can grumble, and womrai can scold — 
His sun setting fast, and his tale being told — 
He then repents at Ibet t 

0. When he, at length, is an odd old man, 
With no warmer friend than a warming-pan, 
He is fidgety, fretfiil, and frowaty* — in fine. 
Loves self, and his bed, and his dinner, and wine ; 
And he rates and he prates, and reads the debates, 
And abuses the world, and the women he hates, 



And is coziDg and prosiag, and dozing all day, 
And snoring, and roaring, and boring away ; 
And he's huffy, and Btaffy, and puffy, and snuffy, 
And mnsty, and fusty'j and rusty, and crusty ; 
Sneezing, and wheezing, and teaaisg, and freezing, [Ming; 
And grnmbling, and fumbling, and mumbling, and stum- 
Falling, and bawling, and crawling, and sprawling. 
Withering, and dithering', and quivering, and ehivering, 
Waking, and aching, and quaking, and shaking, 
Ailing, and wailing, and always bewailing, 
Weary, and dreary, and nothing that's cheery. 
Groaning, and moaning, his selfishness owning ; 
And crying, and sighing, while lying and dying, 
Grieving and heaving, though naught he is leaving 
Bat wealth, and ill health, and his pelf, and himself. 

7. Then he sends for a doctor to cure or to kill, 

With his wonderful skill. 

And a very big bill, 

All of which is worth nil", 
But who gives him offense, as well as a pill. 
By dropping a hint about making his will; 


For the game's up at last, 

The grave die is east, . 
Never waa fretful antiquity mended — 
So the looely life of the bachelor's ended. 

Nobody mourns him', nobody sighs', 

Nobody misses him', nobody cries' ; 

For', whether a fool', or whether he's wise', 

Nobody grieves' when a bachelor dies'. 

8. Now, gentlemen I mark me, for this is the life 
That is led by a man never bless'd with a wife ; 
And this is the way that he yields up his breath. 
Attested by all who arc in at the death. 

• Dtmdlcla, mairted meu ; trom BetioUek, ona of the charaeten is Sbikspeare'e 
play ofUDch AdnaboDtNotbing." >' Jfjmut, a Blow, gmcefnl diDce. • i'lr 
ou eeiing, whlrllog, or Caniiag about on the toea, in daDClng. ' Dubt, lov tens. 
■ Friamti/, tor troBtj—tbOlj. ' FfUty, mould;. ■ DUhaing, going about tret- 
I'ul);. ■> A% notblne. 

'Tis twilight now : 
How deep is the tranquillity' ! — ^The trees 
Are slumbering thi-ough their multitude of bonghsi. 
Even to the leaflet on the fimlest twig^ ! 
A twilight gloom pervades the distant hills. 
An azure softness mingling with the sky. 


Night, sable goddess I from her ebon throne. 
In rayless majesty, now stretches forth 
Her leaden sceptre o'er a slumb'ring world. 
Silence" how dead' ! and darkness" how profotind' 1 
Nor eye', nor listening ear', an object finds : 
Creation sleeps. Tis as the general pulse 
Of life stood still, and Nature made a pause' : 
An awful patise ! prophetic of her end. 

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LESSON xvnt 


(Thohab Hood. > comic poM tad qnidnt bnmorial, bom In Loodoa, Eng., in ITM. 
dtod [nlStC HlB po«lIc writings are (nil of nblins aDdoddlliea: bat even in fal* 
puna and lerlllsa Ibera 1> generally a " Kcirit of good" directed Co some kludlj or 
phllanthroptc obtact. 

The month of HoTember, In EoglaDd, Is noted (ot Its dismal, fogg; weatber. Tlilii 
[ilece Ib written In Iambic meaatue (sea p. MB), and la to be read wlUi a slow moro- 
meut, and in tbe inmle monotoae.} 

1. No Bun — no noon I 
No mom — no moon — 

No dawn — no dusk — no proper time of day — 
No sky — no earthly view — 
No distftDce looking blue — 

2, No roada — no streets — no t'other side the way — 

No end to any row — 
No indication where the crescents go — 
No tops to any steeple — 
No recognition of familiar people — 
No courtesies for showing 'em — 
No knowing 'em — 

3, No travelers at all — no locomotion — 
No inkling of the way — no motion — 

" No go" by land or ocean — 

No mail — no post — 

No news from any foreign coast — 

No park — no ring — no afternoon gentility — 

No company — no nobility — 

4. No warmth — no cheerfulness — no healthful ease — 

No comfortable feel in any member — 
No shade — no ehine — no butterflies — no bees — 
No fniits — no Sowers — no leaves — no birds — 


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lAtudgtlt.'-l.Whe.t Didactic WrOfngi etabrtKB. Wluit works belong to Ihla clasti. 
— S. The Bitay—v^t IC Incladm. Wbat we Icuk lor la mcta compaBlticHiB.— & Otbcr 
writing* that aim M iDiCrnctlon, and bf nbal Diean<.~4. Didactic poetry— bow It 
dlffsra from the prose essay. Wrltlnga aflbla clau.— H. pecnllar character of inch 
poetical works. How the poet lauugea hia anblect — t. EmbelUehment In dldacUc 

poems. lUnatraHoD T. SecoDd Ulnstntlaii.— 9. AdraDUgei and diasdrantsses of 

didactic poeti}.] 

1. Didactic WEirraGs, avowedly designed for inBtrnction, 
aa the term implies, embrace all kinds of composition con- 
nected with the principles of art and science, or with the in- 
vestigation of moral and physical truth. Of such is the 
great mass of works included under the term knowledge; 
embracing all books of instruction, and all moral, political, 
and philosophical writings. 

2. The .Eway is a favorite form of this kind of composi- 
tion, designed for popular reading, and including such writ- 
ings as the Spectator by Addison, the Tattler, and the 
Guardian, and many of the leading articles of the standard 
Magazines and Reviews of the present day. In composi- 
tions of this kind we look for sound thought, just principles, 
and clear and apt illustrations ; with plainness, simplicity, 
and perspicuity of style ; and clear, accurate, and method- 
ical arrangement. 

8. But writings other than those professedly didactic, 
make instruction, more or less, one of their objects: even 
plays, fables, and romances, whose professed design is amuse- 
ment, aim also to make some ueefiil impression on the mind, 
although they do this hy indirect methods, such as the repre- 
sentation of character in its various phases. 

4. But aside fi-om the works ofinstmction referred to, anfl 
philosophical, moral, and critical essays, there is a species of 


poetry, called didactic, which openly professes the object of 
imparting inetmctiOD ; and it differs from the prose essay, 
not in scope and substance, but in form only. Snch are the 
GeorgicB of Virgil, which are a treatise on Agricnlture imd 
Kural Affairs ; Pope's Eraay on Criticism; Akenside*s Pleas- 
ures of the Imagination ; Armstrong on Health ; and the . 
works of Horace and Vida on the Art of Poetry. 

5. The peculiar character of such poetical works, and that 
in which they dili'er most from prose essays, is the introduc- 
tion of numerous episodes'' in the form of narration, or de- 
scription, and poetical allusions, and other embellbhments, 
by which the poet engf^es the fancy, relieves and amuses 
the reader, and fixes any nsefhl circumstance more deeply 
in the memory. While he aims to instruct, he conceals the 
dryness of his subject under the richest poetical painting; 
and it is in the aptness of his digreseiouB, and the richness 
of his painting, that he exerts the great force of his genias. 
• 6. In a didactic poem, instruction is seldom given, or truth 
imparted, without embellishment. While plain prose would 
say that the labor of the husbandman must begin in the 
spring, the poet thus paints the scene in a series of charm- 
ing piotnres : 

" While yet the Spring is jroimg, while earth nnbiods 

Her frozen boeom to the western winds; 

While monntain snows dissolce against the nm, 

And Btreama yet new from precipices mn; 

Et'd in this early dawning of the year, 

Prodace the plongh, and yoke the sturdy steer, 

And goad-him till he groans beneath his toil, 

7111 the bri^t share is buried in the soil." 

Dbtubn's VirgWi Geergict. 
7. Instead of telling the ftrmer that he must bring down 
the waters &om the neighboring hills if he would look for 
an abundant harvest on ihe dry plains below, the didactic 
l>oet pictnree to him a beautiful landscape clothed with vei'd- 
ure, as the result of irrigation. 

" "Mid gasping herbs when terer'd nature dies, 
Lo ! on yon brow whence bubbling springs arise, 
llie peasant, bending o'er the exponiia bdow, 
Uiracta the chaonel'd waters where to flow *. 


Down the smooth rock melodiooa waters glide. 
And a new verdure gleams beneath the tide." 

Vibqil'b Georgica, Sothel^'a TVans. 

8. It will be Been that didactic poetry, by its charoiB of 
verHific&tion and numbers, and by the numerous embellish- 
ments which it allows, may become a very pleasing vehicle 
of knowledge, and thus poasesa many advantages over the 
didactic prose essay, A caution, however, is to be exercised 
against it; for as it takes possession of the imagination, it is 
apt to mislead the judgment, and make ns acquiesce in what 
is said by the poet, without inquiring into its truth. 

• From Ibe GiMk Di-nla'Eitn, to teach : adapted to ioBttnctlaD. 

' An Ip'i.sftM Is a eeparale incident, story, or other aigresBion, separable from the 
nwlD snbject, bnt nstDntUy srMog Ihini it, and introdnced fOT (be poipoee ot illne- 
trttUon, or to glre greater rarietr to the erenlB related. 

rtrnder the head of "iCesofitw 0)mTiion(te,''lnBtrnitlon in given to the people of Is- 
reel In the form ofcomrnandisdecjarlng what shall not be done; bnt lawH, precepCa, 
etc., may be cHher posEtIra or negative. Under the second head we have " DeclarV' 
tiiry Prfcepts, with the reaeone on which they are foanded folUnffing each precept. 
Under the third head, the " /n«(rt«KM Jrfi**" of " Pay as Too Go" la precedfd by the 
reasona for it; and nnder the tenrlh bead we have aimply the "Iratnution" la to 
nbal are "Enduring Records."] 

(See Rnie VT., b.)—BibU. 

J. When ye reap the harvest of your land', thou shalt not 

wholly reap the comers of thy 

field', neither shalt thou gather 

the gleanings of thy harvest' 

And thou shalt not glean thy 

; vineyard', neither shalt thou 

t gather every grape of thy vine- 

j yard' ; thou shalt leave them for 

the poor" and the stranger'. 

I 2. Te shall not steal', neither 

' deal falsely', neither lie one to 

another'. And ye shall not swear 

by my name falsely', neither shalt thou profane the name of 

thy (jiod'. Thou shalt not defraud' thy neighbor', neither 

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rob' him : the wages of him that is hired shall not abide with 
thee all night nntil the morning. 

3. ThoT) ehalt not curse the deaT, nor put a stnmbling- 
bloek before the blind', but shalt fear thy God'. Te shall do 
no unrighteonaness in judgment' ; thoa shall not respect the 
person of the poor', nor honor the person of the mighty': 
but in righteousness shalt thou judge thy neighbor'. Thou 
Shalt not go np and down as a tale-bearer among thy peo- 
ple' ; neither shalt thon stand against the blood of thy 

4. Thou shalt not hate thy brother in thy heart" ; thon 
shalt in any wise rebuke' thy neighbor', and not suffer sin 
upon him'. Thou shalt not avenge', nor bear any grudge 
against the children of thy people', bat thou shalt love thy 
neighbor as thyseir. 

5. Thou shalt rise np before the hoary bead', and honor 
the face of the old man', and fear thy God'. And if a stran- 
ger sojourn with thee in yonr land', ye shall not vex' him. 
But the stranger that dwelloth with yon shall be unto you 
as one' born among you', and thou shalt love him as thyseir; 
for ye were strangers in the land of Egypt. 

6. Ye shall do no tmnghteousness in judgment', in mete- 
yard', in weight', or in measure'. Just balances', just 
weights', a just ephah', and a jnst bin shall ye have' : I am 
the Lord your God, which brought yon ont of the land of 
Egypt. Therefore shall ye observe all my statutes, and my 
judgments, and do them. 


(See Rala VITL, d.)—Bmt. 

1. And seeing the multitudes, he went up into a high 
mountain: and when he was set, his disciples came unto 
him. And he opened his mouth and taught them, saying, — 

2. Blessed are the poor in spirit' : for theirs' is the king, 
•dom of heaven'. Blessed are they that mourn': for they' 

shall be comforted'. Blessed are the meek' : for they shall 
inherit the earth'. 

3. Blessed are they which do hunger and thirst after 
righteousness' : for they shall be filled'. Blessed are the 



mercifiir: for they shall obtain 
mercy. Blessed are the pure in 
heart' ; for they shall see God. 
Blessed are the peacemakerB^ : 
for they shall be called the chH- 
dren of God. 

4. Blessed are they which are 
persecuted for righteouanesB 
sake' : for theirs is the kingdom 
of heaven. ^-'Blessedareyewheu 
men shall revile' yon, and perse- 
cute' you, and shall say all manner of evil gainst yon false- 
ly', for my sake\ Rejoice', and be exceeding glad' ; for 
great is yonr reward in heaven : for so persecuted they the 
prophets which were before yon. * * * « 

6. Te have heard that it hath been said", Thou sbalt love 
thy neighbor', and hate thine enemy'. But I say unto yon', 
IjOvb your enemies^ ; bless them that curse you' ; do good 
to tbem that hate you' ; and pray for them which despite- 
fully nee yon', and persecute you'; that ye may be the chil- 
dren of your Fathei'' which is in heaven': for he maketh his 
enn to rise on the evil' and the good", and sendeth rain on 
the jnst' and on the unjust". 

m. iNSTBUcrivB ADnoB : Pay as Tbu Oo. 
The necessaries of life are few, and industry secures them 
to every man : it is the elegances of life that empty the 
purse. The knick-knacks of fashion, the gratification of 
pride, and the indulgence of luxury, make a man poor. To 
guard against these, some resolution is necessary; and the 
resolution, once formed, is much strengthened and guarded 
by the habit of paying for every article we*buy, at the time. 
If we do so, we shall seldom purchase what onr circum- 
stances will not afford. 

TV. iNSTEucnoN : Miduring Recorek. 

If we work upon marble', it will perish' ; if we work upon 

brass', time will efface' it; if we rear temples', they will 

oromble into dust' ; but if we work upon our immortal 

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minds' — if we imbue thera with principles", with the fear of 
God" and love of our fellow-men' — we engrave on those 
tablets something which will brighten for all eternity'. — 
Pakiel Wbbstbb. 

From tbe OermaD ot Oittla (geh'u). 
UoBK WDLT^ua voH OoBTHi. Ml >ocom[i11ab«d Gannan schola 

1. " WiTHonT haste ! without rest!" 
Bind the motto to thy breast I 
Bear it with thee as a spell ; 
Storm or sunshine, guard it well ! 
Heed not flowers that round thee bloom, 
Bear it onward to the tomb ! 

2. Haste not — let no thoughtless deed 
Mar for e'er the spirit's speed ; 
Ponder well and know tbe right, 
Onward then, with all thy might ; 
Haste not — years can ne'er atone 
For one reckless action done I 

3, Rest not I life is sweeping by, 
Do and dare before you die ; 
Something mighty and sublime 
Leave behind to conquer time ; 
Glorioug 'tis to live for aye 

When these forms have passed away, 

4, HasU not ! rest not ! calmly wait. 
Meekly bear the storms of fete ; 
Ihity be thy polar guide — 

Do the tight, whate'er betide I 
Haste not — rest not — conflicts past, — 
God shall ci-owii thy work at last. 



LESSON xxn. 

A jnod model ot the iDttnictiTe Esuj. From amOet't Self Helps. 
lAnaifit.—i. Whtit U cbaracCerr Its Influence f Ibe remit of wbst t—S. Csnae of 
Franklln'a encceu. What defects ble Integrity OTercame.— S. Chuicter creates cou- 
fidenca. Aleuuider ofEneala. Montalgqe. — t. Charscter iinfl knowledge oompired. 
— 9. Qaalltlei that are tbe essence of manl; cbarscter. Their power.— 0. Stephen of 
Colonna. Charuter In mlBfortane.— T. Wh; a man shoald aim at the possession of 

ft good chuactel. A high stAndard B. Extract from George Herbert.—*. Wisdom 

In bavlng a high standard.- Ilk The trae chsracter always sets rightly. lllDstratlon. 
l^e principle an active power.- 11. LitUe aiU, tJondnct toward olhen.— 11, Belt 
cdncatiou in twhailiir. Gentleness In soclstj.] 

1. Thk crown and glory of life is characteF\ It is the no- 
blest possession of a man", conBtituting a rank in itaelf, and 
an estate in the general good-wiir ; dignifying every sta- 
tion', and exalting every position in society^ It exercises a 
greater power than wealth', and secures all the honor" with- 
out the jealousies' of fame. It carries with it an influence 
which always tells' ; for it is the result of proved honor', rec- 
titude', and consistency' — qualities which, perhaps more than 
any other', comniand the general confidence and respect of 

2. Franklin attributed Us snocess, as a public man, not to 
his talents or his powers of speaking — for these were but 
moderate — but to his known integrity of character. " Hence 
it was," he says, " that I had so much weight with my fellow- 
oitizens. I was bnt a bad speaker', never eloquent', subject 
to much hesitation in my choice of words', hardly coiTeot in 
language', and yet I generally carried my point'." 

3. Character creates confidence in men in high station as 
well as in humble life. It was said of the first Emperor 
Alexander of Russia, that bis personal ch^acter was equiv 
alent to a constitution. Duiing the wars of the Fronde, 
Montaigne was the only man among the French gentry 
who kept his castle gates unbarred ; and it was said of him 
that his personal character was worth more to him than a 
regiment of horse, 

4. That character iBpotcer, is true in a much higher sense 
than that knowledge is power. Mind' without heart', intel- 



Ugenoe' -withont conduct^ cleTeraess' vitfaont goodness^ are 
powers in their way, bat they may be powers only for mis- 
chiefl We may be instructed or amused by them ; but it is 
sometimes as difficult to admire them', as it would be to ad- 
mire the dexterity of a pickpocket', or the horsemanship of 
a bighwaTman^ 

5. Trutafulnees, integrity, and goodness — qualities that 
hang not on any man's bi-eath — form the essence of manly 
chai-aoter ; or, as one of our old writers has it, " that inbred 
loyalty unto virtne which can serve her without a livery." 
He who possesses these qualities, united with strength of 
purpose, carries with him a power which is irresistible. He 
is strong' to do good", strong' to resist evtl\ and strong' to 
bear np nnder difficulty and miBfortnne\ 

6. When Stephen of Colonna fell into the hands of his 
base assailants, and they asked him in derision, " Where is 
now your fortress'?" "Here," was his bold reply, placing 
his hand upon his heart. It is in misfortune that the char- 
acter of the upright man shines forth with the greatest 
lustre' ; and, when all else feils, he takes his stand npon his 
integrity and his courage. 

7. Every man is bound to aim at the possession of a good 
character, as one of the highest objects of liie. The very ef- 
fort to secure it by worthy means will fbmish him with a 
motive of exertion ; and his idea of manhood, in proportion 
as it is elevated, will steady and animate his motive. It is 
well to have a high standard of life, even though we may 
not be able altogether to realize- it. " The yonth ," says Mr, 
Disraeli", " who does not look up', will look down' ; and the 
spirit that does not soar', is destined perhaps to grovel'." 

8. George Herbert wisely writes — 

"Fitch thj behaTior. low', thj pn^ecU bigfa'; 
So shall thou bumble and magnanimotu be. 
Sink uol in spirit' : who aimeth at the sky', 

Sboots higher, much, thiin he that means a tree." 

9. He who has a high standard of living and thinking 
will certainly do better than he who has none at all. "Pluck 

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at a gown of gold," says the Scotch proverb, "and yon may 
get a sleeve o't." Whoever tries for the highest resulte, 
can not fail to reach a point far in advance of that from 
which he elarted; and though the end accomplished may 
fall short of that proposed, still the very effort to rise, of it- 
self, can not fail to prove permanently beneficial. 

10. The true character acta rightly, whether in secret or 
in the sight of men. That boy was well trained who, when 
asked why he did not pocket some pears, for nobody was 
there to see, replied, " Yes there was : I was there to see my- 
self; ana I don't intend ever to see myself do a dishonest 
thing," This is a simple, but not inappropriate illustration 
of principle or conscience dominating in the character, and 
exercising a noble protectorate over it ; not merely a pass- 
ive influence, but an active power regulating the life. Such 
a principle goes on moulding the character hourly and daily, 
growing with a force that operates every moment. 

11. As daylight can be Been through very small holes, so 
little things will illustrate a person's character. Indeed, 
character consists in little acts well and honoi'ably perform- 
ed; daily life being the quarry from which we build it np, and 
rongh hew the habits which form it. One of the most marked 
tests of character is the manner in which we conduct onr- 
selves toward others. A graceful behavior toward supe- 
riors, inferiors, and eqnals, is a constant source of pleasure. 
It pleases others, because it indicates respect for their per- 
sonality ; but it gives tenfold more pleasure to ourselves. 

12. Every man may, to a large extent, be a eclf-educator 
in good behavior, as in eveiy thing else ; he can be civil and 
kind, if he will, though he have not a penny in his pui-se. 
Gentleness in society is like the silent influence of light, 
which gives color to all nature : it is far more powerful than 
loudness of force, and far more fruitful. It pushes its way 
quietly and persistently, like the tiniest daflbdil in spring, 
which raises the clod and thrusts it aside by the simple per- 
eistency of growing. 

by Google 




CBt J. E. OABrarm: 4ii Sngllsb poet: editor o[ Psudt Beadiogf, ilc. 

This pttTt oToar leuon lllnsuttea the tmportanee of doing oar dal; (o-dqf, h 
Bt pnttGig It off niittl tbe nncertaln to-momw, uid Is mora iCcletl]' didaeHe thi 
Becoodpartottbe leraoii.] . 

1. Don't tell me of to-morrow"; 

Give me the man who'll ea,j, ' 

That, when a good deed's to be done, 

"Let's do the deed to-day." 
We may all command the present, 

If we act, and never wait; 
Bat repentance is the phantom 

Of a past that comes too late I 

2. Don't tell me of to-morrow* ; 

There is much to do to-day, 
That can never be accomplished 

If we throw the hours away ; 
Every moment has its duty ; 

Who the fiitnre can foreteU''? 
Why put off nntil to-morrow 

" What to-day can do as well' ? 

3. Don't tell me of to-morrow' : 

If we look upon the past, 
How much that we have left to do 

We can not do at last" I 
To-dap — it is the only time 

For all upon the earth ; 
It takes an age to form a life — 

A moment gives it birth 1 

r:,,r.=^i by Google 



' IRathibiii. CoTTaw, in Bngll^ pbjBlcIui uid poel ; bom In 1T0T ; died In 1T8S. 
TU> li > poellc detcription of " To-monow :" bat Inclndee, also, the uutmcUTe 
luaon that "To-inoTToir"ta ■ sbuper, and a banknipt cheat : thaMt ii Ihe/wl'i 
Aty, and Ibe child or Fdnq/ ud ot PBtly.—Ben are good eiamplei of ptrnmifica- 
ttoa; tor wbkli Me p. WI.J . 

■ 1. To-MHrrovT didst thou say'' ? 

M^tfaonght I heard Horatio say" To-Mdrrova'' ; 

Go to\ I will not be«r' of it" ; To-M^rrovi^'^'- 1 

lis ffcharper, vho stakes bis penary' 

Against thy plenty' ; who takes thy ready cash. 

And pays thee naught bat wishes, hopes, and promises^ 

The currency of idiots'; InjnrionB bankrupt, 

That gulls the easy creditor. 

2. Jb-2»n'oio'"'-'-/ 

It is a period nowhere to be found 
In all the hoary registers of Time', - 
TJnlesB, perchance, in theJbSP.a calendar'. 
Wisdom disclaims the word, nor holds society 
With those who own' it. No', my Horatio'*, 
"Us Fancy'g child', and Folly is its &ther' ; 
Wrought of such stuff as dreams' are, and aa baseless 
As the fantastic visions of the evening. 



Lorn BAoaR. 

[Fbahoib Baoob, boni in London, Eng., In lESO, died In WVH. Pope TVrj lostlj 
chAFacterlzed him, In one emphatic 11ns, as '^Ihe niaeit, brighteat, Tneaneet of mau- 
klod." He nas Aimong as a scholar, a wit, a lawyer, a Judge, a etaleeman, a poilU- 
cian — and, aa a pblloaopber, no language can be too loftj for hie pralae ^ but be wu 
gnlltj' nf offldal bribery, was elaylahlj obaeqniona tolbe sorereign, and wu a dan- 

The I 

1. Studibb serve for delight', for ornament', andfor ability'. 
Their chief use for delight is in the quiet of private life; for 
omameDt', is in dlBOourse'; and for ability', is in the judg- 



ment, and diBposition of bnBinesa' ; for expert men can ese- 
cnte, and perhaps judge df particulars, one by one; but the 
general counsels, and the plots and marehfding of afikirs, 
come best from those that are learned. 

2. To spend too much time in studies', is sloth" ; to use 
too much for ornament', is affectation'; to make judgment 
wholly by their rules', is the humor of a scholar' : they per- 
fect nature, and are perfected by experience : for natural 
abilities are like natural plants, that need pruniog bj^etndy; 
and studies themselves do give forth directions too much at 
large, except they be bounded in by experience. * 

3. Crafty men' contemn stndies'; simple men' admire 
them': and wise men use. them'; for they teach not their 
own use, bnt that there is a wisdom without them, and 
above them, won by observation. Read not to contradict 
and confute, nor to believe and take for granted, nor to find 
talk and discourse, bnt to weigh and consider. 

4. Some books are to be tasted, others to be swallowed, 
and some few to be chewed and digested ; — that is, some 
books are to be read only in parts; others to be read, bnt 
not curiously; and some few to be i-ead wholly, and with 
diligence and attention. Some books may be read by dep- 
uty, and extracts made of them by others ; bnt that would 
be only in the less important arguments, and the meaner 
sort of books ; else, distilled books are, like common distilled 
waters, flashy things. 

fi. Reading' maketfa a fidl man' ; conversation' a ready 
man' ; and writing' an exact man' : and therefore, if a man 
write little', he had need have a great memory'; if he con- 
fer little', he had need have a present wit' ; and if he read 
little', he had need have much cunning, to seem to know 
what he doth not. 

6. Histories' make men wise'; poets', witty'; the mathe- 
matics^ subtile' ; natural philosophy', deep' ; moral philoso- 
phy', grave' ; logic and rhetoric', able to contend'. Indeed, 
there is no stand or impediment in the wit bnt may be 
wrought ont by fit studies ; like as diseases of the body 
may, by appropriate exercises. 

7. Bowling'" is good for the back'; shooting'" for the 


langs and breast' ; gentle walking*" for the stomach' ; rid- 
ing'" for the head and the like : so, if a man's wits be wan- 
dering', let him study the mathematics'; for, in demonetrs- 
tiona, if his wit be called away never so little, he must begin 

8, If bis wit be not apt to distinguish or find differences', 
let him study the disputations of the schoolmen' ; if he be 
not apt to heat over matters', and to call upon one thing to 
.prove ^nd illustrate another', let him study the lawyers' 
cases' : so every defect of the mind may have a special 
receipt. % 



[Thia eifellent KDd accompllsbed penou, oho via bom in Eaglind is VNS, and 
died In IBIUt, has probably done oa omcb, b; her nritingii, to ImproTe nmuklDd,— M 
maks them wiser and better for both wurlde— aa any otber wrjlur ot aocient or mod- 
Simile, meUpbor, aod allegor; are ofl«a uaed to conTey InetmcUon. See pp. n, 
T^ and 18. In the followlug poem, which is in the talloquiiU style (aee p. 3^, the 
a&aile of the carpet le nsed to show that ve ve not tojadge of the entire scheme 
of God's proTldence by the very small put of It which falls imder onr obnm- 

1. As at their work two weavers sat. 
Beguiling time with friendly chat. 
They touch'd upon the price of meat', — 
So high, a weaver scarce could eat. 

2. " What with my brats, and sickly wife," 
Quoth Dick, " I'm almost tired of Ufe ; 
So hard my work', so poor ray fare', 
Tis more than mortal man can bear. 

3. "How glorious is the rich man's atate'"! 
His house so fine' 1 his wealth so great' I 
Heaven is nnjust, you must agree ; 
Why all to him'3? why none to me'^? 

=^-h, Google 


4. " la Spite of what the Scripture teaches~, 
In spite of all the parson preaches", 
This world" (indeed Tve thought bo long) 
Is ruled, methiuks, extremely wrong. 

6. " Where'er I look', howe'er I range', 
Tis all confused, and hard, and strange' ; 
The good are troubled and oppreos'd. 
And all the wicked are the bleae'd." 

6. Qnoth John, "Our ignorance is the cause 
Why thus we blame our Maker's. laws; 
Parts of his ways alone we know ; — 
THs all that man can see below. 

7. " Seest then that carpet, not half done, 
Which thou, dear Dick, hast well begun'' ? 
Behold the wild confusion 'there', 

So mde the mass', it makes one stare' 1 

8. "A stranger', ignorant of the trade'. 
Would say', no meaning's there convey'd' ; 
For Where's the middle', where's the bordei-^? 

. Thy carpet now is all ^sorder." 

9. Qnoth Dick, " My work is yet in bits'. 
But still, in every part it fits' ; 
Besides, you reason like a lout — 
Why', man', that carpeCa inside out." 

10. Says John, "Thou say'st the thing I mean, 
And now I hope to cure thy spleen ; 

This world, which clouds thy soul with doubt, 
Is frut a carpet inside out. 

11. "As when we view these shreds and ends. 
We know not what the tekole intends; 
So, when on earth things look but odd, 
They're working still some scheme of Ood. 

D2 r- ^ 



12, " No plan', no pattern', can we trace' ; 
All wants proportion', tmth', and grace'; 
The motley mixture we deride, 

Nor see the beauteous upper aide. 

13, " But when we reach that world of light', 
And view those works of God aright', 
Then shall we see the whole design', 
And own the workman is divine'. 

14, " What now seem random strokes', will there" 
All order and design appear' ; 

Then shall we praise what here we spnm'd', 
For then" the carpet shall be tt^rti'd." 

16. "Thou'rt right," quoth Dick; "no more Til grum1>le 
That this sad world's so strange a jumble ; 
My impious doubts are put to flight, 
For my own carpet sets me right." 


Tnus,, (tdqtted, from Haxtul. 

[UiBTUi ITU > celebrated Latin eptgnrnmntstl (see p. !06), wbo was born In 
Spain eboDt A.D.4O1 died aboat A.D. 100. 

Iq the fallowlDg brief InetnictlTe poem, vblch is designed to teach that alaU fa 
iMlI frfivn 1:1 not Isel, tbe tmth emhrscsd in the last Rmr llnee Is all the iDora ilronglr 
enfbrced b; tlie preceding lllDStratlons of tlie ancertalntrof eartbl^rlcbea.] 

TouE slave may with your gold abscond, 

The fire" your home lay low; 
Tour debtor may disown his bond, 

Your farm" no crops bestow. 
Your steward false may prove a cheat; 
Your freighted ships the storms may beat; 
That, only, from mischance you'll save 

Which to your friends is given; 
The only wealth you'll always have" 

Ta that ytytive lent to heaven. 

by Google 


DetcripUTe *nd lutrncttre. 
' lAtidIgtU,—l. Of what ire have ttans hr treated, and what wa are next to eomlder. 

^L A good nippiT of snlUbtB wonU — 3. ItednnilancT— lU two ninnii. Where (re- 
qnent, and why.—*. How good tast* ta Tiolated In a choice of words. Foreign ei- 

preBdone & Bryant : hia advice to a young writer.— «. Hole for the nae of new 

worda Pope'aRd'rice' — T. Amblgaity of expreasloiL Importance of gDardlugagaliiHl 
IL— S. How amblgqitj and ob«:nrltr are ociaBlonBd. <Note lUnatraUoDB.)— ». Ex- 
tract from nUm op the selection and use of words.] 

1. Havin(3 treated briefly of the three earliest, easieBt, and 
most natural fomiB in which langnagG is used in continaoas 
discoarse'*, under the heads of Narrative, Descriptive, and 
Didactic Writings^, which stand in the same relation to all 
written language that the four fundamental rules in Arith- 
metic hold to all raathematics'^, we come next to consider 
those principles of rhetoric on which is based the art of cor- 
rect and elegant writing, in all the departments of Engliah 
composition. And here, the first subject that claims our at- 
tention is the proper section and use of words. 

2. To endeavor to speak or write without a good supply 
of words'', is as absurd as to endeavor to till the earth with- 
out the necessary implements'^, or to build a house without 
sufficient niaterial\ A writer should use a sufficient num- 
ber of suitable words to convey his meaning fully and clear- 
ly'*, avoiding the fault of poverty of expression on the one 
band'^, and of redundancy on the other^ 

3. Redundancy, which is opposed to precision, consists 
either in using more words than are necessary to express the 
thonght", or in the repetition of the same thought by differ- 
ent forms of expression^. Both modes of this fault are not 
only frequent in poor writers and poor speakers, who strive to 

' 0, b. For refSrences a, b, see next page. 


make up, by a multiplicity of words, forbarrenneas in ideas'; 
but they also enter into some of the otherwise finest compo- 
aittons in our language. 

4. In the choice of words, good taste is violated by a use- 
less and excessive use of foreign terms'* ; a practice which 
savors of pedantry'*, and which, by an affected display of 
learning, often betrays the vanity and shallowness of the 
writer. Ripe scholars may, indeed, occasionally use foreign 
expressions, when those to whom they are addressed may be 
presumed to understand them' ; bnt such expressions should 
be used only when they furnish a peculiar aptness of illas- 
tration, or appropriately call up old associations, or express 
shades of thought which the English language is unable to 

6. William Cullen Bryant, an elegant .American writer, 
whose prose writings are not inferior in style to his justly- 
celebrated poetry, when requested to give his opinion of an 
article offered to him by a young man ^r publication in Bry- 

Bxamfles. [See precedlDg: jingt ] CiinwCtnu. 
• "At AUiens it wu (be privilege audi At AtlieDa It was Ihe privilege oleterj 
blrtbrigbt oCever; cltlzan aod poet to nil dClien to nul In public, 
aloud, and In public."— Swin. I 

.SOTiorit*.— IQ thIfrBbort aentence, wblcb is Btrlkingir cbsneterlBtic of tlie Iknlt or 
RedaDdnncy, tbere are no l«se tban three Buperflaooa Korda : vli., MrthriglU, wblcb 
Ib here artiaTiTinanB vlib privilege ; pott, irhicb is Incladed Id the appellallon eUiten; 
nndabiud,wbic)iia Implied in nillDg: as every one wba rails, railB aloud. Tbe aen- 
tlment of the wrlterla precisely expreesed, and the vIvaFitjortbeBeatecce mtielilD- 
creaaed, by the retrenchment of tbeee anperdaoiu vorda. , 

Tbe flftb and laat argnmeiit Is, that thia 
lappoelUon of tbe Bonl'B immorlailty gites 
Ibe eaaleat Boiutlon ot the phenomena of 
baman nature, and of those twT«ral meu- 
UloperallonBofwbich woare conaclona, 
and which can nol,witboiit doing mncb 
in'rlolence to onr reason, be Jnatl; IMIllied 
notice reaolTed Into a &BdiIi/jirlne<Fle, and to mere matter. 
naeribed to mwa mofter." — Akoubibbop 


lb IhiB extract then are several repeUtions of thought, hy different rnriDBofei- 
preeaioD. Thai, /afFraCaawtmt and ah&M atriuKan, being bolb applicable lo the phe- 
nomena ot nstnra, are different eipreaeloDB ot the aame Idea : Ibe word action* It Im- 
plied inaftnatBB*; and, moreover, coneclonBDCBs la never properly affirmed of onr 
nctlona. Axtflii prtaolpte and nun nuifter bath mean (be aame thing. Tbe phrsK. 
ra CODtdoDa to onnelves of," is inelegant, and a violation of Ibe Rhetorical 

" Tbe finb and laaC argnment is, that 

Bud whtcl 



ant's newspaper, the Evening Post, said ; " My yonng ftiend', 
I observe that you have used several French expressions in 
your article. I think that, if you will study the English lan- 
guage, you will find it capable of expressing all the ideas 
that yon may have. I have always &und it so' ; and in all 
that I have written, I do not recall an instance in which 1 
was inclined to use a foreign word, but that, on searching, I 
found a better one in my own language." 

6. It has been found that new words, whether introduced 
from a foreign language or not, are but sparingly used by 
the best writers, and that they do not gain admission into 
the best society until they have become to some extent nal- 
uraliaed by common usage. It would be well, indeed, for 
the purity of the language, if the public would reject all 
those which are obtruded upon it merely from an affectation 
of novelty. The advice of the poet points out the true me- 
dium that should be observed between the two extremes of 
obsolete words on the one band, and new words on the other. 

"In words, as fashions, the same nile will hold — 
Alike &ntastic if too new, or old : 
Be not the first bj whom the new are tried'. 
Nor ^et the last' to la/ the old aside'. — Pops. 

7. Ambiguity of expression is a common fault of careless 
writers; and no language admits more forms of ambiguity 
than the English, while none is susceptible of greater pre- 
cision and perspicuity. In all legal documents, such as con- 
stitutions, laws, treaties, wills, bonds, contracts, and deeds, 
ambiguity should be specially guarded against; for it has 
often led to heated contests, to litigation, and even to war. 
In such papers, and also in scientific writings, every other 
grace of language should be sacrificed, if need be, to perspi- 

8. Ambiguity and obscurityare often occasioned by the use 
of inconsistent words and phrases'" ; by the use of words to 

■ "Untended to hBTB gona toLondonl I Intended togo to London iMtreir. 
"IroD L> more nuful tban all tlie met- Iron 1b more asefgl than all ttie otber 

r:,,r.=^i by Google 


express one meaniog', when they in reality denote another*^; 
by the want of a regular and dependent construction throngh- 
ont all the parts of a sentence''; by the use of words that are 
capable of a double interpretation''; by the use of the same 
word in different meanings in the same sentence'* ; by snch 
constructions as give to a word or phrase a doubtful or wrong 
reference to other words or phrases'" ; by the introduction 

SHmpba. Cnmetloni. 

< "AHbough tiii motlTea were correct,! Altbongb bli motiT» mn correct, ret 
}et hit Judgment led h[m to commit abisladtiiMatledlilmtoGammltngileTaDi 
ErieroU/iniJC." lerror. 

One who acU tram correct motliee can not commit a/inU, althongb be m*T com- 

He did not mention Leonora, nor ber 
btbefg destb. 
In [he bope at effecting a cnre, I ehall 

ban taken. 

Ljilas, speaking of bli Guber^ fiiende, 
_ tomlaed him ueirar to abandoii them : V, 
Ljiiaa, apeaklug of bla omi friends, proik- 
Lied bis father uerer to abandoD them. 

Lareat thoD Bie more than thoa loreit 

Loreit thou me moi^ than theae da r 
The aame ward sbunld ehoold nerer be 
naed In dlBMeat meanlnge in the aame 

• "He did not mention i:«oiKin,nc»thi 
er bther waa dead." 

"I shall do all I can to lake the aan 
leasnres for their core which I haoe,"- 

" Loreat thou ma mote than tM 

m wards that bare diferenl 

Berts that all (he worda li 

« ehonld hare the asma 

• ■• I tnat that if the matter li litigated, I I Crnat that if the matter b« litigated, 
thoDgb he maj advance more, be can not thongh he maf advance more nnnunnnii 
advance more wnirAfp reaaona In hia la- he can not advance mare w^bt7 rea- 
dlctnnnt Uian I can Inn; defanae." aons In bla Indictment, than I can In my 

In thle example the lint •um la an adjective, and slgnlfleaifnate'fenumter.' the 
■econd la an *dTerl^ and algnlflea grnUtr <n de^ro. 

' modanle in- The^ were peiaons of moderate Intel- 
re Impaired by lecta even before theee were Impalied br 
their paaaloni ■■ ~ - - 

a "Sometfanea we can aee the dlaordei 
in tin oigana wMeft produced death."— 
Cotmt PkyileleffB. 

li fnle la often violated hj writera This rale la often violated br wiltera 
la matter tulo a who Introduce, Into a eentence, eitrane- 
ona maltera which have no Immsdlala cait- 
necUon with the subject of dlacouiaa. 

But what Ifbe had seen the apostle bim- 
lift Manj a weak-headed nun, aa well 
aa Papiaa, had nodODfatadlr seen htm. 

Uon wllb tbe nUect ot dlaMnraa."— P. 

> "Bntwhatlfhe (Papiaa) bad 
apoetle blmselfr Madj a weak-headed 
PaplM-"— WanoH'e B^lg to wum. 

By Google 



of more than odb principal subject in a sentence'' ; by tbe 
want of a correct punctuation '^ ; and by tbe nae of words 
iaappropriate' to the subject'^ (Rnle VIJX, ft). 

9. We close this chapter on the selection and qbo of words 
with the following appropriate extract ; 

" Words are instrnments of music An iffnorant man 
uses them for jargon' ; but when a master touches them', 
they hare unexpected life and sour. ''*^me words sound 
out like drums^ : some breathe memories sweet as flutes' : 
some call like a clarionet' : some shout a charge like trum- 
pets' ; some are as sweet' as children's talk' ; others', rich as 
a mother's answering back', 

10. "The words which have universal power are those 

' "It we comlder the worts orm 
and an, as tbej an qoBlltled to enlertaln 
the imigliiatlaii, ve sha!) find tbe latter 
vfltT defective In comparison q/ Uie tor- 
rt for Ihongh ihtji may 

ITvB conaider the woika olDatnn and 

of art, as ther are qnallfled to eDlectaln 

Imaglnstlan, we ehall And the latter 

defective in comparlaonwJtIi thalbr- 

Thonghtbe worka ofartaajBome- 

a appear beanUftil and ettaaee,tbey 

Tbe bouM of Chailemagiie fell b; de- 
les, like tbit ofclovla nuder tbe laat ot 
I If erovlDglan kings. 

pear at beaatlfal and struige, tfeey cai 
bave nothing In tbem of tbatvaatneee uu 
immensity wblcb afford so great on enter 
talDineaE to tbe mind of a beholder."- 

• "Tbe hoase of Charlemagne fell by 
degrees, like that ofCloTia,ander the laet gi 
of the MerOTlngiaa kl " ~ 
nM. 0/ Pranei, 

Tbe abore not only fRIeely aaserla that tbe home ot Charlemagne ten grafnallj- 
upder tbe laat of tbe HeroTlnglan kings, but that it («]1 la tbe lame manner aa the 
hoaae oTCloda had bllen ander tbe same klDEa- Tbe corrected punctDaUon glvea 
a very diflVrent meaning; 

' "Toor J(iM[ii,<iniKand|Troa^fl<I(»un-| Tour gracrfnlflgnre and lovely connte- 
tenanu woDld have an awkward OQWCt In nartce wonid have an awkward appear- 
anch a altnatlan." [ance in such a aitnatlon. 

The flgareorfbtm may be lovely, or capable of eidtlng love i I 
can not be gracf/ut, tOr gracefhl conveys an Idea both of flgare aj 

wboee creed, select and drcnmsciibed and 
agreeable as he had made It, eeemed tO 
baveprodqced any aeiioaa Impreadon' on 
bla mind, or to have had any practical in- 

90 fortunate as 
to «» Bad converae with one of them (in- 
fldelB) whoae creed, eelect and cItciud- 
Bcrlbed and pcUatablt aa tie bad made It, 
seemed to bave anf teriout footing in his 
mind, or any praclieal Inflaenee on hie Hnence on his life, 
lite."— CmuUB. 

Tbe verba •» and contcrae, being Joined In constracUon, abonld both govern the 
sitme word; bat as the former is active and the latler nenter, this la impoasible. 
The conatmctlOD Is as iiaJty as It would be to eay,"Ifonnd and went with the 
man." PalatatiU is not an approprlsle ward to apply to creed ^ bat It la more ob- 
jectionable still to apeak ota creed as having BjVwtln^In the mind; end tbe eiprea. 
■km " a uHdu* tbotlng" Ig a serlons barttatiem In lansnage. 



that have been keyed and chorded in the great orcheetral 
chamlier of the bumaii heart. Some words touch as many 
notes at a stroke as when an organist etrikes ten lingers upon 
a key-board. There are single words which contain life his- 
tories; and to hear them spoken is like the ringing of chimes^ 
He who knows how to touch and handle skillfully the home 
words of his mother's tongue', need ask nothing of style'." 
— Thzodobe Tilton. 

^ LESSON xxvn. 


The Poem bj J, G, Holluid. 
[ Jmub Oiunr Holluid, the BOltaor of the lUtle poem below, and Ibe antbor of 

the nell-kDown Timothy TUannb'a LeOtri to Yinaig People, Ltetong in Life, elc, was 
bora Id UasBBCbiiBCttB In tSlt, He atudied medicine, has been a teacher, and Ibr 
man; jeare paat baa bean the editor of the Spilngfleld Bepnblicaii,MaBa,] 

1. Wk know that the language of birds and beasts is con- 
fined to" a very few expressions ; and these seem to mark the 
limited range of the wants and feelings of the brute crea- 
tion, and to indicate the narrow bonnds of their natures, as 
beings of a day. The language of man, on the contrary, 
having power to declare "infinite ranges of passion and 
thought," seems thus to proclaim his divine origin, and to 
be the fitting measure of his immortal destiny. This 
thought ia beautifully set forth in the following lines: 

2. The robin repeats his two beautifnl words', 

The meadow-lark whistles his one refrain' ; 
And steadily, over and over again', 
The same song swells from a hundred birds'. 

,3, Bobolink', chickadee', blackbird and jay', 

Thrasher and woodpecker', cuckoo and wren'. 
Each sings its word, or its phrase", and then 
It has nothing further to sing or say. 

4. Into that word, or, that sweet little phrase, 
All there may bo of its life must crowd ; 

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And low or liquid, or hoarse and lond, 
It breathes ita burden of joy and praise. 

6. A little cEild eits in its father's door, 

Chatting and einging with careless tongue: 
A thousand musical words are sung, 
And he holds unuttered a thousand more. 

6. Words measure power; and they measure thine : 

Greater art thou in thy childish years 
Than all the birds of a hundred spheres : 
7%ey are brutes only, but thott art divine. 

7. Words measure destiny. Power to declare 

Infinite ranges of passion and thought 
Holds with the infinite only its lot — 
Is of eternity only the heir. 

8. Words measure life' ; and they measure its joy\ 

Thou hast more joy in thy childish years 
Than the birds of a hundred tuneful spheres : 
So— sing with the beautiful birds, my boy 1 

0. But notwithstanding the value of words as measures 


oflife, and power, and destiny, it ebonld be-remembered that 
it is only intellect and emotion that make tbem valuable. 
"Langnage," as FrofeBsor Goldwin Smith forcibly BayB, "is 
not a musical instrument into which, if a fool breathe, it 
will make melody. 

LESSON xxvin. 


Una^WlK— 1. BuHeat account of (iam«.~-l. LUerat meuitiig of earl; atnet S. 

Nuoea Imitative of the abjecta repisMnted. Ulostratlon.—^ Fnttbei lUiutnllaiu 

of Imlcatiie norde S. Impoealbk to assign dudm to all Dt)>ects. Fint reniedr, ~ 

to group objecu Into claaees.— <. Second remedj.— I, IllBBlrated by the use of the 
wordAant—S. Ori([ln and growth of flgnraMTe language. Oetro'i acconnt.— B. The 
aama Flows expressed bj CWo.— la The flgnrative eipmsslons "flourished" and 
"planted."— 11. Tho snbject fcrthar lllnstraled by the nse of the word "w*«."~ia. 
BITects of the use of spproprlAte flgnres'of speech. Importiuice of these flgQt^B In 
poetry. lUneUMlon from Tkimaon, — 13. An UtnstratloEt, In two fonns, from Uaraet. 
— 1^ Fnrthar nse of ttiesfl flgoree. A happy lllnstratlon — expUlned.— 10. Eow we 
deBcrlbeot|]ecUasTerybeantifal,etc— the effect An UlaBlratlonfFam .dlxntiih.— 
la. Cantlon to yonthful wWWra. What mnst be. fnrtber, home In mind.— IT. Wbit 
wiilingB genenllj r^ect ttgona. Example^ The pi<q>ec place for flgues.] 

1. "And out of the ground the Lord Glod formed every 
beast of the field, and every fowl of the air, and brougfat 
tfaem unto Adam to see what he would eaU them: and 
whatsoever Adam called every living creature, that was 
the name thereof" 

2. We may suppose that, in like manner, the descendants 
of Adam gave names to the different objects which they 
saw, or thought of; and so long as each object had its own 
name, and no other was applied to it, all names of objects 
had a lUerai meaning. 

3. There is little doubt that, in the in&ncy of langnc^^e, 
whenever names were given to objects in which some par- 
ticular sound or motion was conspicuous, the names were 
made to imitate, as &r as possible, the nature of the objects 
represented. Thus, la all languages, we find a multitude of 
words evidently constructed on this principle. As a familiar 
illustration of this truth, a certain bird is termed the cuckoo, 
and another the whippoonoiU, from the peculiar soonds which 
they emit. 



4. When one sort of wind ia said to toAfapcr, another to 
whisllef^,- when the lightning is said to flash, and the thun- 
der to roar' ; when a serpent ia said to Aisa', a fly to ftun', 
a d<^ to bark', a tiger to growV, a oat to purr', a chicken to 
peep', birds to chirp', and falling timber to erath' ; when a 
Btream is said to flow", and hail to ratUf! ; when we speak 
of the eagle's aerearri, the yeU of the panther', the twitter of - 
the swallow' ; of lieating lambs', and lowing herds' ; of the 
moan of pain', the groan of anguish^, and the tolling of the 
passing bell' — the analogy between the sound of the word, 
and the thing Bignified', is plainly discernible'. 

5. Bat how soon wonld the infinite number and variety 
of the objects in nature exhaust the most extended vocabu- 
lary' I Could every beast that roamed the plains, every 
fowl of the air, and every tenant of the waters, have a name 
of its own' ? It could not have been long before it became 
necessary to group objects into classes, so that one word 
might designate a great and unknown number of individ- 
uals! Thus the words elephant, lion, bear, wolf, sheep' — 
eagle, owl, robin, swallow' — trout, perch, bass, mullet', etc., 
would each stand for a class, or division, of the animal king- 
dom. And the same with the names of objects in the vege- 
table world and the mineral kingdom. 

6. But the difficulty wonld not end here; and in the very 
infancy of language men wonld be compelled, in order to 
lay less burden on their memories, to make one word, which 
they had already appropriated to s certain idea or object, 
stand for some other idea or object, between which and the 
primary one they fonnd, or fancied, some resemblance. 

7. Thus, as the head is that part of the body which con- 
tains the brain, or governing power, the same word would, 
ere long, begin to be applied to whatever is uppermost, fore- 
most, or the most prominent among other objects. Hence 
we DOW find Buch figurative expressions as the head'' of an 
army, a column, a state, a family, a school : we speak of the 
Aead" of the Nile, and the heads^ of a discourse ; a boil and 

' Appl; Rule n. where the putlcul&rs art not anphatie. The rlslDg InHectioIi ii 
bat lUsbt after the imnmaB, hat plslBljmBTked&ner the Bemicolona. Ai tba par- 
llcnlin beMnne nmv gm^ihatis, toward the cloM of the Tsree, the blUng InOecUoD It 
nnd, accordlns to Rule in. ; find th'e glvea Keytar nrietf to the reading. 



a conspiracy are alike said to come to a head": and a man 
is figuratively said to have a good head, when we mean a 
good intellect. 

8. Hence the origin and abundance of figurative words, 
which find currency in all languages, both &om choice and 
necessity; and men of lively imaginations are every day add- 
ing to their number. Nearly two thousand years ago Cicero 
gavethia same account of the origin of figurative language, 
when he said, "As garments were first contrived to defend 
our bodies from the cold, and afterward were employed for 
the purpose of ornament and dignity', so figures of speech, 
introduced by want, were cultivated for the sake of enter- 

9. We find the same views expressed by a modem Latin 
poet, who says — 

' ' First from nectsiity the figure sprang ; 
For things tlut noold oot suit our scanty tongue, 
When no true names were offered to the view, 
Those they transferred that bordered on the true : 
Thence,by degrees, the noble licenae grew," — Vida. 

10. How naturally figurative expressions spring up, and 
how much they add to the force and beauty of language, we 
will illustrate by a few examples. When we design to inti- 
mate the period at which a state enjoyed most reputation 
and glory, this idea is readily connected, in. our imagination, 
with the flourishing period of a plant or a tree; and we lay 
hold of this associated idea, and say, "The Roman empire 
jhuriahe^ most under Augustus." The Psalmist used the 
same figure to denote the prosperity of the righteous, when 
he said, " The righteous shall^ourMA'' like the palm-tree : he 
shall groiB like a cedar in Lebanon. Those that he planted 
in the house of the I^ord, shall.^(risA in the courts of our 

11. The word voice was originally invented to signify the 
firticulate sounds formed by the organs of speech : but as 
by means of it men signify their ideas and intentions to one 
another, the word voice, ere long, came to be used to signi- 
fy any intimation of will, or judgment, or power, though 
given without the least interposition of voicCj in its literal 



sense. Thus we speak of listeniDg to the voice" of conscience, 
the voice of natare, the voice of God. Job speaks of the 
thunder ae the voice of God. "Canst thoa thunder with a 
voice like him?" And the Paalmist says, "The floods lifted 
up tbeir voic^."" Even that form of the verh, by which its 
subject is represented as the doer, the doer and the object, 
or the object of an action, is called the Active Voice, the 
Middle Voice, the Passive Voice, etc., because the form itself 
makes known, or proclaims, the relation of the subject to 
the action. 

12. As the familiarity of common words, to which our 
ears are much accustomed, tends to degrade style, the use 
of appropriate figures of speech bestows upon it dignity and 
elevation. Assistance of this kind is often needed in prose 
compositions, when the subject is elevated; bnt poetry could 
not exist without it. Hence figures form the constant lan- 
guage of poetry. To say that "the sun rises" is trite and 
common ; bnt it becomes a magnificent image when express- 
ed as we find it in Thomson's Seasons : 

" But yonder comes thepowerftiliiiiy of day, 
Bejoicing in the east'." 

13. To say that " all men are subject alike to death," pre- 
sents only a commonplace idea; but the thought rises and 
fills the imagination when painted thus: 

" With equal pace, impartial fete 
Enocks' at the palace, as the cottage gate:"* 
or, when thus expressed : 

"We all must tread the pstbs of &to: 

And ever shakes the mortal urn. 

Whose lot embarkB ns, eoon or late, 

On Charon'fl' boat — ah 1 never to return." 

Horace, by Fmitcts, 

14. Appropriate figures of speech delight by the novelty 
of the ideas which they suggest; they place the principal 
subject of thought in a newand striking light; by the aid 
of association they throw around it all the charms of fancy, 

* Fslllda mora sqno pnleat pede. pauperuia tabemas 

Begninqno tarres — Bnrace. 
More lltersU;; "Pale deatb,wltli equal pac«, knocks U the C0tla8«a of the poor, 
and the palace* orklnss." 

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and they thereby give it all tbe prominence and effect pos- 
sible. Thas, in the following illustration : " When ve dip 
too deep in pleasure, we always stir a sediment that renders 
it impure and noxious;" and in this: "A heart boiling with 
violent passion will always send )ip infatuating fames to the 
head;" tbe images called up by the striking figures drawn 
from sensible objeets, serve far better than aignments alone 
to force conviction, and to make s deep and lasting impres- 
sion on the niind. 

15. When, therefore, we would describe an object as very 
beautiinl, or magnificent, we borrow images from all the 
most beautiful or splendid scenes of nature ; we thereby 
throw an adventitious lustre over our subject ; we enliven 
the reader's mind, and dispose him to share our emotions, 
and thus to yield himself to impressions which we stiive to 
make upon him. These effects of figurative langu^e are 
ka[^ily shown in the following lines, and illustrated by a 
very sublime figure at their close : 

"Then the inwtpreMive Btrain 
.IKffoBea he enchantment'. Fancy dreams 
Of eacted fbnntauiB, and Eljeian graves'. 
And Tales of bliss' : the intellectu&l power 
Bends from his awful throne a wond'ring ear~. 
And smilea." — Akenbidb, Pltaturei oflmagtnatim. 

Here the intellectual power, personified, is represented as 
bending from his awful throne, listening in wonder, and 
smiling with approbation. 

19. Yet we must observe, by way of caution to youthful 
writers, that while figures of speech add ornament, dignity, 
and grace to solid thought and natural sentiment', a correct 
and refined taste is a requisite guide to their proper use, 
It must be borne in mind that no figures will render a cold 
or an empty composition interesting' ; and that the figure is 
only the dress, while the sentiment is the body and the sub- 

17. Moreover, the strong pathetic, and the pure sublime, 
not only have little dependence on figures of speech, but they 
generally reject them. What Longinus declares to be the 
most sablime language ever penned — "God said, Let there 

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be light ; aod there was light" — imparts & lofty conception, 
to much greater advantage than if it had been decorated by 
the most pompous metaphors. The proper place for figuree 
of speech is where a moderate degree of elevation and pas- 
sion is required; and there they contribute to .the embellish- 
ment of discourse only when they are inserted in their prop- 
er place, and when they rise, of themaelTes, from the subject, 
without being sought after. In the following pages the va- 
rious kinds of figures will be described, and their proper use 
' explained, and illustrated by numerous examples. 

FiacBM or Srann ue BomitimeB dlilded Into Pigurti 0} IFordi iDd P^aa of 

h Pigtira<ifWoni»,gtBeral]jal]ei tr^pet, beaiate the worii an twned tana tbelt 
priznATj nusDlDgi an modea or«ipreflfllng abatract 01 fmmalerlBl 1dea« bj wordv 
which snggeBt pIctareB or lirugeB from the materia] world. Tropea are dirlded bj 
rhelDiidana iota two cliaaea, tja ii'Ao ebei aad ma Oia'o miaa. 

' ASj/nte'doiJn (Sfn ek'do iy) ia tbe nualng of tbe whole for s part, or of K pact 
(Or the nbole ; md beuce it cbaugea a word tmia ita original meaning in dauru 
onl J, and Dot In tind. Thoa : " Thia raif (L e. bonae) protects yon." " Olie oa onr 
dallf br«if'(l. e. fbod). "How the iFaar(i.e.aaiiimei) la IwauUfiil." 

> A Jfe (An'o 1710 li the BnbBtitatiou of one word In place of aaother tbu baa aoma 
telaUon to It: aa wheti,lat. Tha cauH la put (br tbe tfat: M.'Thepliue is pat far 
ttie inhiMtanl; Sd.Tbe ceiuaiiKr la pal fbr tba thtng a>n(a<n*d, and the nonttuj. 
Thm, laL " God la onr <ol«H(m" (L B. Sartor) 1 Sd. " TbejraiOtB Iha itW" (1. a. the (IV- 
AoMIaiUi) : Sd. " Alwaja eddreae the cAolr" (!. a. the pmliiitig ofiar}. " A mui 
keepBagoodtoWj'll.a.prorfaimi). "We read Firga''!f.e.kt»tiriatisii. "A man 
baa a warm Aeorl" (I. a. aftetiont). 

n. FisnEB or Thodobt are thoaa flgDres in wbkh the worda are nasd in tbelr 
proper and literal meanlDK, and tbe tgan conaislain the toro of tbe tboDght.aa In 
eiclamatlona, apoaLropbea, and compariaoDa. Bat the dlatlDCtion ia not alwaja 
dear between tropes and flgarea of thoaghl, and ia, practically, of little Importance. 

• AtrApi, naed to jwraont/V tbe ann. See f«r<sn</oatiOn, p. WT. 

< Hare Fate, pereaDlOed as Oauh, la repieaealed aa kaooklng alike at the doors at 
rlcb and poor, and claming iiia Tictlma. 

• Ohl^ron, afabalonabelngofOreclanmTthologTiWbacandactedtheRonla of the 
dead, lu a boat, OTer tbe BIierAcb'e ran, to tbe lovemgioos. 

VuLOABiSM in language is a distingoisbing cbaracieri»tic oTbad company, 
and a bad edncadoa. ProTerbial expreasions, and trite aajiingB, are the flow- 
ers of Ibe rhetoric of a vulgar num. He baa olwaja aome fuTorite word (br 
the time being ; which, fbr the sake of using often, be c^ommonl; abuses ; 
SDch as, vatllg angrj, vattfy kind, vaMty hendBome, and nastly ngly. Ho 
■ometimea affects hard words, by way of omameat, which be always mangles. 
A man of fashion never has recourse to proverbs and vnlgar aphorisms ; uses 
Qinther favorite words, nor hard words ; but takes great cars to spoak very 
correctly and grammatically, and to prmoonce properly ; that is, according 
to the nsage of the best companies. 

■ ivGtio^le 




(KoBHT I.LOTi>, u Bngllah poet, w*b bom la 1IS8. BecomloK >u lathor by pro 

feesioD, hiB genlaa could sot sbleld him nram puiertj, and he died a prisoner in tbe 

Fleet at the early age oTSl. 
^ The follovrlDg Utile poam abcnn tbe iinportancs of a comet modnlatlon In resd- 

iag and speaklog, a enlijecl slmoat aa Imiiortaut as the proper nge ot vordi in writ- 
, lug ; n>r It li br reading and Hpeaking that the anue of words la Interprated to the 

ear. See alio "Poetical Compaaitlon," p. SIT.} 

1. Trs liot enough the voice be sound and clear, — 
Tis modulation that must charm the ear. 

When desperate heroines grieve with tedious moaa', 
And whine their sorrows in a Bee-saw tone', 
Tbe same soft; sounds of unimpasBioned woes 
Can only make the yawning hearers doze, 

2. That voice" all modes of passion can express, 
Which marks the proper word with proper stresB; 
But none~ emphatic" can that'' reader call', 

Who lays an equal emphasis on all. 

3. Some" o'er the tongue" the labored measures roll, 
Slow and deliberate as the parting toll ; 

Point every fltop\ make every pause so strong', 
Their words like stage-processions Stalk along. 
All affectation but creates disgust, 
And even in speoMng'' we may seem too'' just'. 

4. In vain" for them" the pleasing measure Sows, 
Whose reoitation runs it all to prose ; 
Repeating what the poet sets not down- 

The verb disjoining from its friendly noun — 
While pause, and break, and repetition" join^ 
To make a discord in each tuneful line. 

5. Some pl&cid natures fill the allotted scene 
With lifeless drone, insipid' and serene ; 



While othere" tbtmder every couplet o'er, 
And almost crack your ears with rant and roar. 

6. More nature', oft', and finer Btrokes', are shown ' 
In the low whisper' than tempostucms tone' : 
And Hamlet's hollow voice, and fixed amaze, 
More powerful terror to the mind conveys, 
Than he who, Bwollen with big impetnoos mge, 
Bullies the bulky phantom off the st^^e." 

1. He who, in earnest, studieB o'er his part', 
Will find true nature cling about his hi>art. 
The modes of grief are not included" all" 
In the white handkerchief and mournful drawl : 
A single look^ more marks the internal woe', 
Than all the windings of the lengthened OV 
Up to the face the quick sensation files. 
And darts its meaning fiom the speaking eyes ; 
Love", transport", madness', anger", scorn", despair', 
And oS the paaeioti8~, all the aouf is there. 

• tlnUI Deal tha begtnnlng of the preeent centarj oi ms ailamiTelr itronoimced 
Ulie long l,aa Jttu, [oc jfffn. 
■ Then four lines are an ollaeloa to tbe gbosf aceae In Bamlet 


Dercripttve and loatnietlve.— Shasspusi's BanUet, Act III. 

(WuLiu SaiKBPUBi, the great EiiKllBh dramfftlet, was bom la Btratford-apoQ- 
&VDiilnlH4: died there In iei«. Teiy Utile likuown ofUie erentBorhlallfe: bnt 
hli"PlaTe" are now read ttiroDghoDt tbe civilized world. 

Tbla lenon will be roUid a One eierdee (br nice dlKrlmlnatlTe dedamitloii. 
Tboae portions of the speech which contain Hamlet's dinei Instructions totheplaf- 
sn aie to be spoken.wlts an affected nicety and delicacy of speech and manner,— 
" (rtpptairfjf on thetongne;" bnt Judidonsly Intermingled with conalderable abrupt 
tome in tbe emphatic porUoDB. The heavier, harsh, mtffural tone ia to be used where 
Hamlet nprobates the had style of acting whldi he would hare the playen aroid J 

I. Spbae the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced' it to 
you, — trippingly" on the tongue : but, if you mouth' it', as 
many of our players do',I had aa lief the town-crier' spake 
my lines. Kor do not saw the air too much with your band, 

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thus' ; but nse all gently ; for in the very torrent, tempeet, 
and (as I may Bay) whirhoind'' of your passion', yon must ac- 
quire and beget a tempei-ance that may give it Bmoothne88\ 

2. 0~ 1 it offends me to the soul to hear a robustious peri- 
wig-pated fellow tesr a passion to tatters' — to very rags'T— 
to split theearsofthegrouiidliiigB''; who, for the most part, 
are capable of nothing but inexplicable dumb show and noiB& 
I would have such a fellow ichipped for o'erdoiog Terma- 
gant: it out-herods Heiod'' : Pray you, avoid it, 

3. Be not' too tame, neither ;' but let your own diecretioD 
be your tutor. Suit the action to the word' ; the word to 
the action' ; with this special observance — that you o'erstep 
not the modesty of nature : for any thing so overdone', is 
from the purpose of playing' ; whose end, both at the first 
and now, was, and is, to hold, as 'twere, the mirror up to na- 
ture ; to show virtue her own feature ; scorn her own image ; 
and the very age and body of the time, his form and press- 
ure". Now this, overdone, or come tai-dy off", though it make 
the unskillful laugh, can not but make the judicious grieve. 

4. O ! there be players, that I have seen play — and heard 
others praise, and that highly — not to speak it profenely, 
that, neither having the accent of Christians, nor the gait of 
Christian, pagan, or man, have so etmtted, and bellowed, 
that I have thought some of Nature's journeymen bad made 
men, and not made them well, — they imitated humanity ao 
abominably ! 

■ Tbe memei sort ofpeoiile, who sat In the pIL ■> Herod's chsraeter ms almri 
Vtaleat. ' Impreesloa, or trae reesmbluice,— the object ol all good acting- 

Tbouoh Nature weigh our talents, Eind diapeuse 
To every raan hia modicum of sense, — 
And conyeraation, in its better part, 
May be esteemed a pft, and not an art, — 
Yet much depends, as in the tiller's toil. 
On cuttare, and the sowing of the soil. 
Words learned by role a parrot may rehearse, 
But talking is not always to converse ; 
Not more diatinct from hftmiony divine. 
The couitatit creaking of a country eiga. 



(Jnolirai*.— 1. Interrogation and BxclamaClon need sb Bgnres of thonKhL— 2. Tbe; 

add force to declaratJOD S. Tber operate bji eympatb;. — i. Kalea for their aee — 

S. Sublimit; of Bxclamation: HiMLET'e DiaaBiprioH of Man. -S. ExclBDiaUon di- 
rected bj the DBtare at tbe paeelon : Otubllo'b Joy.— T, How affected by enltsme 
eotrow; L*oi Cobbtaboi.— a By diEht Borrow, or iileBBlng melBncboiy: Coont 

Okbibo 9. B)i conlemptnouB reprosch: Ladt Macbeth.— 10. Aseertiun of truth by 

InterrogWlon; FBiLSB.— 11,12, 13, 14,16, Ifl. Qod'B wiBdom aad power, sb shown In 
his worte, aesetled by Int«rrog»UoD : Job.— IB. The coneplraiot Catiliua- 17, 18. 


1. Both interrogation and exclamation are often used as 
figures of thought; and although the literal use of the for- 
mer is to ask a question, yet it is also the native language 
of passion ; for whatever men would affirm or deny with 
great earnestness, they naturally put in the form of a ques- 
tion ; expressing, thereby, the strongest confidence in the 
truth of their sentiments, and appealing to their hearers for 
its confirmation. 

2. Thus, what additional force is given to the following 
declaration of the unchangeableness of the Almighty by the 
questions at its close, " God is not a man" that he should 
lie; neither the son of man, that be should repent. Hath 
he said' it, and shall he not do it'' ? or hath he spoken' it, 
and shall he not malce it good'?" Interrogation becomes a 
figure of thought only when it serves the purpose of strong 

3. Interrogation may often be used with propriety where 
there are no higher emotions than such as naturally arise in 
pursuing some close and earnest reasoning; but exclamation 
belongs to the stronger or deeper feelings ; and yet not only 
to surprise, admiration, joy, grief, and anger', but also to pa- 
thetic appeals, and to the expression of any intense convic- 
tion. Both, being natural signs of a moved and agitated 

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mind, operate upon ub by means of sympathy ; and, when 
they are properly used, they dispoae ua to enter into every 
feeling and paaslon which wo behold expressed by others. 

4. With interrogations a writer may use much freedom, 
inasmuch as they fall in with the ordinary course of lan- 
guage and reasoning, even when no excess of feeling is sup- 
posed to have place in the mind ; but with exclamations a 
writer must be more reserved, as nothing has a worse effect 
than the frequent and unreasonable use of them. When in- 
appropriate — when they do not arise naturally out of the 
sabject, they fail to enlist our sympathy, and render a writer 
frigid to excess. An author who fails in their use, and who 
subjoins them to sentences which contain nothing but sim- 
ple affirmations or propositions, gives us words, and not 
passion ; and as he raises no passion in return, he fills us 
with indignation. 4 

5. In the following example, in which exclamation is com- 
bined with climax, and used in description, this figure of 
speech, so appropriate to the elevated character of the sub- 
ject, rises to the highest pitch of sublimity. "What a piece 
of work is man' ! how noble in reason' I how infinite in fac- 
ulties'! in action',how like an angel'! in apprehension', how 
like a god' !" (Ssakspeaee's Samkt, Act It, Scene 8.) 

6. It should be remarked 'that inasmuch as exclamation is 
used for all kinds and. degrees of passion, so the nature of 
the passion must direct both the tone and the inflection of 
the voice. Hence, when Othello, after his escape from the 
tempest, meets Desdemona, unexpected Joy elevates hie 
voice to the highest pitch of exclamation : 

Oh mjgonl'e joy""! 
If afiM creij tempest come sacli colmg', 
Maj tlie wiads blow dil thej have vraken'd death'" ! 

SniKSPEiBB's .Othello, Act II., Scene I. 
1. Extreme sorrow likewise adopts this figure, and raises 
the voice into a high tone, as in the language of Lady Con- 
stance, when accused of uttering madness. 

I am not mad — I woald to heaven I were'" ! 
For then', 'tJs like', I should forget' mjself : 
Oh\ If I could', what grief should I' forget'" I 

SEASaPEASB's King JoAn, Act IIL, Scene 4. 

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8. And again, a slight degree of sorrow, or pleasing mel- 
ancholy, adopts the exclamatory figure, but in a soft middle 
tone, as when the Duke, in Sbakspeare's Twelfth Night, re* 
lieving his melancholy with music, says : 

That strain agun~ 1 it hod s dying &!]' I 
Oh, it came o'er my ear like the sweet south, 
Tbot breathes npon a bank of violets'. 
Stealing*, «nd giving odorM — Act I., Scene I. 

9. Bat the language of contemptuous reproach and impa- 
tience uses the exclamation in a harsh but lower tone of 
voice ; as when Lady Macbeth reproaches her terror-strick- 
en husband, who shrank irom the ghost of Banquo, that had 
taken Macbeth's place at table. 

Oh proper stuff"' I 
7S«' is the very punting' of your fear' : 
This is the air-drawn dagger', which, yon said, 
Led yoo to Duncan'. Oh, these flaws and starts 
(Impostors to troe fear) would well hecome 
A aonim't Blor; at a winter's fire, 
Anthoriied by her grandam^l Shame itseir"! 
Why do yon make such faces' ? When all's done'. 
Ton look but on a stod' ! 

Skakspbarb's Machtth, Act III., Scene 4. 

10. In the following esamples, interrelation, departing 
from its literal use, asserts important truths with much 
greater force than could be given to them by the most pt»- 
itive affirmation. In proclaiming God's goodness and mer- 
cies, the Psalmist says : " Will the Lord cast off forever'' ? 
and will he be favorable no more''? la his mercy clean 
gone forever''? doth his promise fait forevermore' P Hath 
God forgotten to be gracious'? hath he in anger shut up his 
tender mercies'?" — Fiahn Ixxvii., 7-9, 

1 1. It is also in the forcible language of interrogation that 
the Lord, answering Job out of the whirlwind, declares the 
wisdom and power of the Almighty, as shown in his works, 
and the weakness and ignorance of man. The changes irom 
interrogation to affirmation give additional beanty and eSect 
to the striking pictures here presented. 

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12. "Canet thou bind the unicorn with his band in the 
fiirrow'' ? or will he harrow the valleys after thee'' P Wilt 
thon trust him because his strength ia great'' ? or wilt thou 
leave thy labor to him'' ? Wilt thou believe him, that he 
will bring home thy seed, and gather it into thy bam'' ? 

13. "Gavest thon the goodly wings unto the peacocks'? 
or wings and feathers unto the ostrich' ? which leaveth her 
eggs in the earth, and warmeth them in the dust, and for- 
getteth that the foot may crush them, or that the wild beast 
may break them? She is hardened against her young ones 
as though they were not hers : her labor is in vain without 
fear; because God hath deprived her of wisdom, neither hath 
he imparted to her nnderatanding. What time she lifleth 
up herself on high, she scometh the horse and his rider. 

14. "Hast thou given the horse strength''? hast thou 
clothed his neck with thunder'' ? Canst thou make him 
afraid as a grasshopper' ? the glory of his nostrils is terri- 
ble. He paweth in the valley, and rejoiceth in his strength : 
he goeth on to meet the armed' men. He mocketh at fear, 
and is not affrighted ; neither tumeth he back from the 
Bword. The quiver rattleth against him, the glittering 
spear and the shield. He swalloweth the ground with 
fierceness and rage: neither believeth he that it is the 
sound of the trumpet. He saith among the trumpets, Ha, 
ha ; and he smclleth the battle afar off, the thunder of the 
captains, and the shouting. 

16. " Doth the hawk fly by thy wisdom, and stretch her 
wings toward the south"? Doth the eagle mount up at 
thy command, and make her nest on high" ? She dwelleth 
and abideth on the rock, upon the crag of the rock, and the 
strong place. From thence she seeketh the prey, and her 
eyes toehold afar off. Her young ones also suck up blood : 
and where the slain are, there is she. 

16. "Canst thon draw out leviathan with a hook''? or his 

In two (jIlsbleB, to prewrre the pootlc meuiin. 


tongne with a cord which thon letteat down" ? Canst thou 
put a hook into hie nose' ? or bore his jaw through with a 
thorn'? Will be make many supplications unto thee'? 
Will he speak soft words unto thee' ? Will he make a cov- 
enant with thee'? wilt thou take him for a servant forever'? 
Wilt thon play with him as with a bird'? or wilt thou bind 
him for thy maidens' ? Shall the companions make a ban- 
qaet of him'? shall they part him among the merchants'? 
Canst thon fill his skin with barbed irons' ? or his head with 
fish spears'? Lay thine hand upon him, remember the bat- 
tle, do no more. Behold, the hope of him is in vain : shall 
not one be cast down even at the sight of him'? None is 
80 fierce that dare stir him up : WhtT therT is able to stand 
b^ort me'''"'/" {-Job, xxxix.-xli.) 

17. When the conspirator Catiline had plotted to bum 
Rome, massacre the senate, and seize the government, the 
consul Cicero, having discovered the plot, thereupon called 
a meeting of the senate in the temple of Jupiter, to consult 
upon the public safety. As Catiline had the boldness to 
appear in his seat at the meeting, Cicero, instead of address- 
ing the senate as he had intended, turns to Catiline, and in 
a speech of the most bitter invective assails the conspirator 
himself. A gi-eat part of the oration, like the introduction, 
is in the interrogative style. 


18. " How far, O Catiline, will you abuse our patience'^? 
How long will your fury insult us'^? What bounds will 
you set to your unbridled rage'^? Do neither the nights 
guards of the palace', nor the city watch', nor the consterna- 
tion of the people', nor the union of all good men', nor the 
meeting of the senate in this fortified place', nor the coun- 
tenances and looks of all here present, at all move you'' ? 

19. "Do you not perceive that your designs are discov- 
ered, and that all who are present know of your conspiracy''? 
Who of us, do you think, is ignorant of what you did the 
last night\ and the night before", where you were', who were 
with you', and what you resolved' upon*? Alas,for our de- 
generacy''" I Alas, for the depravity of the times'^" I The 



apprised of all this^ ; the consul beholds' it ; and 
man lives''"! Lives''? Nay, comes into the sen- 
;n8 in the public counsels' ; observes, and marks out 
us' for destructioD'"* !" 



[Ik Use following plec« a molher'a angnlah Ib portrayed In Ihe brief i!^ 
whicb are vmog rtom her by ber wrelcbed, dying condttlOD. The flrat tma laat 
verees, by Ibe narrator, are prjely descriptive. Tbe otbera, excepc Ibe moDtion, bj 
tbe Darratai,orttietinieoftilebt,at Ue cluee or the Sd, Btb, and BCh TerKe, reqnln, 
In the reading, tath a tone of IncTeaalng sngulgb and dea]iair aa Ibe ciicnmBtaocea 
would nalnrallj call forth.] 

1. Dabk is the night' ! — How dark' ! No light' ! No fire' I 
Cold on the hearth, the last faint sparks expire' 1 
Shivering, she watbhes, by the cradle dde. 

For him who pledged her love — last year a bride ! 

2. " Hark' ! Tis his footstep !— "Ks past : 'tis gone ! 
Tick ! — Tick ! How wearily the time crawls on ! 
Why should he leave me thus' f He once' was kind' ! 
And I believed 'twould last — how mad' ! — how blind' J 



. " Rest thee, my babe' I — Rest on' ! — Tia hanger's' cry' ! 
Sleep ! — for there is no food ! — The fount ia dry ! 
Famine and cold their wearying work have done — 
My heart must break I — and thou !" — The clock strikee 

4. " Huah ! 'tis the dice-box ! Yes, he'a there, he's there : 
For this ! — foe this, he leaves me to despair 1 

L^ves love! leaves truth! his wife! his child! For 
The wanton's smile — the villain — and the eotl [what? 

5. " Yet ni not curse hit" ! No ! 'tis all in vain ! 
Tis long to wait, but sure he'll come again 1 

And I could starve and bless him, but for you, [two. 

My child ! — Aw child ! — Oh, fiend !" The clock striken 

6. " Hark ! How the sign-board creaks ! The blast howls 

Moan ! Moan ! A dirge swells through the cloudy sky ! 
Ha ! 'tis his knock ! he comes ! — he comes once more 1 — 
'TIS bat the lattice flaps I" Thy hope is o'er ! 

1. " Can he desert me thus' ? He knows I stay 

Night after night in loneliness, to pray 

For his return — and yet he sees no tear! 
. No I no t It oan not be. He wiS be here. 

8. " Nestle more closely, dear one, to my heart ! 

Thou'rt cold' ! Thou'rt freezing' I But we will not part! 
Husband I — I die ! — Father ! — It is not he ! 

O God ! protect my child !" The clock strikes three. 

9. They're gone ! They're gone 1 the glimmering spark hath 

The wife and child are numbered with the dead ! 

On the cold hearth, outstretched in solemn rest. 
The babe lay frozen on its mother's breast 1 
The gambler came at last — but all was o'er — 
Dead silence reigned around. — ^The clock struck four. 

L, ■■ KGcitH^Ie 


LESSON xxxm. 


[KAiuiisni, AdistiDBniehed Rueslnii poet undbtatoiian: bam in naS: died inlS!«. 

Two speakers ure represented In ttais lesBoa. Those portions Inkeo b; tbe Vagt 
VoiOK are to be tSHd In a beavj, coarae, hareh, eiclanmlorj gnUural totn— tbe Ian- 
Snage of abhorrence and dread. ThoBetakenbjtheSEonNDVoioEara to tw rend In 
Uut geDtle and pure tone, wbkh U called Ibrtb b; a tme Cbristlan philosopli; and 



ChrtaUan ndi^BtlciTi. TbeBecondTOieeiBtlutorthsUgliter tdndofexclinution 
*t tbe beglnaiug, gndnill; moderating Into gentle but poalUre afflnnatlon toward 
the cloee, wtiea Ibe muk at exclamation Is omlEltd.] 

First Voice. 
1. Uow/riffhtful the grave''" ! how deserted and drear'" ! 
With the bowls of the storm-wmd — the creaks of the 
bier' ! 
And the white bones all clattering together' t 

Second Voice. 
2. Howj«ace^ the grave'! its quiet" how deep" ">! 
Its zephyrs' breathe calmly', and soft' is its sleep', 
And flowerets perftime' it with ether'. 

First Voice. 

3. There riots the blood-created worm on the dead', 
And the yellow skull serves the foul toad for a bed', 

And snakes' in its nettle weeds hiss''" I 

Second Voice. 

4. How lovely', how sweet" the repose of the tomb' ! 
No tempests are there: but the nightingales come, 

And sing their sweet choi-us of bliss. 

First Voice. 
6. The ravens at night flap their wings o'er the grave' ! 
Tis the vulture's abode' ! 'tia the wolPs dreary cave, 
Where they tear up the earth with their fangs' I 

Second Voice. 
6. There the cony at evening disports with his love, 
Or rests on the sod; while the turtles above, 
Repose on the bough that o'erbangs. 

First Voice. 
1. There darkneas and dampness with poisonous breath, 
And loathsome decay fill the dwelling of death ! 
The trees are all barren and bare [ 

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Second Voice. 
I. Ob, soft are the breezes tbat play rouDd the tomb. 
And sweet with the violet's wafted perfume, 
With lilies and jessamine fair. 

9. The pilgrim who reaches this valley of tears. 

Would fain burry by, and with trembling arid fears. 
He is launched on the wreck-covered river ! 

Seccmfi Voice, 
10. The traveler, outworn with life's pilgrimage. dreary. 
Lays down bis rude staff, like one that is weary, 
And sweetly reposes forever I 


InMirogBtlrelj eUMd Bdwabs Bvrett. 

rBnwAiD IiTnin, bom Id Dorchester, Hru., In ITM ; giadnaled at HSTknl Col- 
iegfi In tail ; wu a IJoltarlau preacher two ^eara ; vas PraAasm in Harvard Col- 
It^ : afterward Preddent of the aame : at one time edited the Horlli Amerlcan.Re- 
Ttew; was repreeentaUTS In CongreBa, afterward senator; wan mlnlater to England 
homlMl tolSM; died la IsaE. He waa a Onlslied BCholsr, and one of the most el- 
oqoent ot qraaliert.] 

1. What citizen of our republic does not feel', what re- 
flecting American does not acknowledge, the inoalonlable 
advantages derived to this land out of the deep fountains 
of civil, intellectual, and moral troth', from which we have 
drawn in England'^ ? What American does not feel proud 
that his fathers were the countrymen of Bacon', of Newton', 
and of Locke'* ? 

2. Who does not know that, while every pulse of civil lib- 
erty in the heart of the British empire beat warm and full in 
the bosom of our ancestors', the sobriety, the firmness, and 
the dignity with which the cause of free principles struggled 
into existence hero', constantly found encouragement and 
countenance from the Mends of liberty there'^ ? 

8. Who does not remember that, when ihe pUgrimB went 



over the sea, the prayers of the faithful British confessors, 
in all the quarters of their dispersion, went over with them, 
while their aching eyes were strained till the stai-s of hope 
should go up in the western skies'^ ? And who will ever 
forget that, in that eventful straggle which severed these 
youthful republics from the British crown, there was not 
heard, throaghout our continent in arms, a voice which 
spoke louder for the rights of America, than that of Burke 
or of Chatham within the walls of the British Parliameat, 
and at the foot of the British throne'^ P 


Ediiund BniEK. Hot. IT, ITBL 
Excltunstlon and InterroeatlDn, aincted by Sarcasm. 

1. But, Mr. Speaker', the gentleman says we have a right 
to tax America''" ! Oh, inestimable right''" ! Oh ! wonder- 
fij, transcendent right', the assertion of which has cost this 
country thirteen provinces', six islands^ one hnndred thou- 
Baud lives', and seventy millions of money' t Oh, invaluable 
right' ! for the sake of which we have sacrificed onr rank 
among nations', our importance abroad', and our happiness 
at home' I Oh, right' ! more dear to us than our existence', 
which has already cost as so much', and which seems likely 
to cost us our all' t Infatnated minister''" t miserable and 
tmdone country''" I not to know that the claim of right', 
without the power of enforcing it', is nugatory and idig'. 

2. We have a rigfu to tax America, the noble lord tells us ; 
therefore we ought to tax America. This is the profoond 
logic which comprises the whole ohain of his reasoning. 
Not inferior to tins was the wisdom of him who resolved to 
shear the wolf. What' I shear a wolf" ? Have you con- 
ddered the resistance, the difficulty, the danger of the at- 
tempt''? "No," says the madman; "I have considered 
nothing but the right. Man has a right of dominion over 
the beasts of the forest; and ihat^ote I wiU shear the wolfJ" 
How wonderful^ that a nation could be thus deluded''*" ! 

IfBiU^ete. TbGflgnreBretertolIteBlocaUoiw}BDl«aofcort«i[ioD(UiiBHBmben. 




Edwud £v»btt, 

1. What''*! feed a child's body', and let his soul hun- 
ger'* ? pamper hie limba, and starve his faculties" ? What''" ? 
plant the earth', cover a thousand hills with yonr droves of 
cattle', puraue the fish to their hiding-places in the sea^, and 
spread ont your wheat-fields across the plain, in cider to 
supply the wants of that body, which will soon be as cold 
and as senseless as the poorest clod, and let the pure spir- 
itual essence within you^, with all its glorious capacities fov 
improvement, languish and pine'' ? 

2. What''" ! boild factories', turn in rivers upon the water- 
wheels', nnchain the imprisoned spirits of steam, to weave a 
garment for the body^, and let the soul remain unadorned 
and naked'' ? What''" ! send out your vessels to the farthest 
ocean, and make battle with the monsters of the deep, in 
order to obtain the means of lighting up your dwellings and 
workshops, and prolonging the hours of labor for the meat 
that perisheth, and permit that vital spark, which God has 
kindled*, which he has intrusted to our care, to he fanned 
into a bright and heavenly flame — permit it, I say, to lan- 
guish and go out''? 

3. What considerate man can enter a school, and not re- 
flect, with awe, that it is a seminary where immortal minds 
are training for eternity' ? What parent but is, at times, 
weighed down with the thought, that there must be laid the 
foundations of a building which will stand, when not merely 
temple and palace, but the perpetual hills and adamantine 
rocks on which they rest, have melted away' ? — that a light 
may th^e be kindled which will shine, not merely when 
every artificial beam is extinguished^, but when the affiight- 
ed sun has fled away from the heavens' ? 

■ 1. nioBtrttllonnofRnloI.: 

g. lUnBtratloTiB of Hole n. ; a auccasslon o 
i.,™™„i=.^ ~"-Mogibe rlBlng Inflection. 

._ . _ „. 'fujgQ^gc of exdamat1oii,wbeD not designed M 


LESSON xxxvn. 

Uno^ifa.— 1. C«Rfiari»)i,or$lfli'<Ic,rreqiieDl]yemplajed. Ilsat)|eeC. Ulnitra- 

tioi! S. eimlle applied to cwange: toeloqaence: to a rlrtnoiu man : tosgraietii] 

man 3. BiMnt ind fanndatloa at Ma flgnre. Keaembluice of eOteta. Hnalc and 

pasi JojB. — 1. The beia^ of (tetiao'i atmile.— 0. FnndaineiiUI reqnldU of a com- 
parison. niaetrationB II. 'WbylCiB not tbe UtDgoage of etrong pudon. Wberelt 

Id spproprlslely Dsed T. UodenUoD In the me of compKrlsonn From what tbe; 

Bhonld not be drawn. Farther mln.— S. DlrMtiDoi aa to the reading ol almllee.— 
», 10. Simllei from Mllton.l 

1. CoMPABisoy, or Slm'i le, is a figure more frequently em- 
ployed than any other, both by poets and prose writers, for 
the purpose either of esplau&tion or ornament, or both com- 
bined. When we wish to give a clearer conception of the 
subject of which we are treating, or to adorn it, we often 
find that we can accomplish our purpose the most readily 
by instituting a comparison between it and some other sub- 
ject, or object, different in kind from the former, bnt resem- 
bling it in some striking particular. Thus, if we would de- 
scribe the steady, unmoved position of a body of soldiers in 
line of battle, we do it the most effectually by the aid of 
some picture which comparison presents ; as, " The eoldiers 
stood like statues, unmoved by the cannon's roar." 

2, A lively idea is formed of a man's courage by likening 
it to that of a lion ; and eloquence is exalted in our ima^- 
nation by comparing it to a river overflowing its hanks, and 
sweeping every thing in its course. When it is said, '' A 
virtaons man, slandered by evil tongues, is like a diamond 
obscured by smoke," the mind ia impressed, and fancy is 
pleased, by the picture. The following simile beautifully 
illustrates the principle of gratitude : " As a river rolls its 
waters to the sea, tvhence its springs were supplied, so the 
heart of a grateful man delights to retnm a benefit re- 

=^-h, Google 


ceived.*' The simile is most frequently iDtroduced bj the 
words like, so, as, or thus, 

3. All subjects admit of explanatory and embellishing 
comparisons ; aud unexpected resemblances between ob- 
jects unlite in kind are the foundation of this figure. Even 
two objects which resemble one another only in their efiects 
upon the mind, may often be very happily compared, when- 
ever a reference to the one will strengthen the impression 
made by the other. For example, to describe the nature of 
soft and melancholy music, Ossian makes use of this happy 
and delicate comparison : " Tte music of Carryl was, like 
the memory of Joys that are past, pleasant and mournful to 
the BouL" 

4. An ordinary poet would probably have compared the 
music of Carryl to the voice of the nightingale, or the mur- 
mur of the stream ; and the likeness would, indeed, have 
been more strict ; but Ossian, by founding his simile upon 
the ffff'ect which Carryl's music produced, and likening it to 
a similar tender feeling produced by the memory of "joys 
that are 'past," thereby gives ua a much stronger impression 
of the nature of the music referred to, and, by the unexpect- 
edness of the resemblance, awakens in us a pleasurable emo- 

5. The fundamental requisite of a comparison is, that it 
shall serve to illustrate the object for the sake of which it 
is introduced, and give us a more vivid impression of it. 
Hence, if the object be a great and noble one', every cir- 
cumstance in the comparison must tend to aggrandize it'; 
if it be a beautiful one', to render it more beautifuP ; if ter- 
rible', to fill us with more awe\ 

6. From the very nature of comparison, it is evident that 
it is not the language of strong passion : for strong passion, 
being wholly occupied with some one emotion that has taken 
possession of the soul, has neither the leisure nor the inclina- 
tion to look around for resembling objects. Comparison nat- 
urally comes in where the imagination is sprightly, where 
the mind is warmed, and where there is some elevation in 
the subject — in that middle region between the highly pa- 
thetic and the very humble style — but not in that in which 



the mind is swayed by the torrent of agitation. Violent 
angaiah never expresses itself in a studied comparison. 

1. But, as comparisons are sparkling ornaments, they 
shonld be used with moderation : for things that sparkle, . 
dazzle and fetigue if they recur too often. They should 
not be drawn from things which have too near and obvious 
a resemblance to the object which we wish to illustrate; for 
then they will be trite and commonplace : nor should they 
he founded on likenesses too f^int and remote ; for these, in 
place of assisting, strain the fancy to comprehend them, and 
throw no light upon the subject. Nor should a comparison 
be made from an object from which few people can form 
clear ideas, lest it wholly fail in its application. 

8. A few words may be said about the proper reading of 
a formal simile, which has been described as the langu^e, 
not of passion, but of contemplation. While it always, both 
in prose and poetry, admits a longer pause than ordinary 

* before it, to give the mind a little time to study the picture 
it is about to present, it is naturally introduced, especially 
in poetry, by a lower and more plaintive tone of voice than 
is used in that part of the passage which immediately pre- 
cedes it. At the beginning of a simile, the voice may 
drop into a monotone, which is the language of calm con- 
templation, and then gradually slide out of it, to a higher 
pitch, and varied inflections, as the mind warms with the 
subject. When the simile comes first, the reverse order is 
to be observed. These principles are happily illustrated in 
the correct reading of the following descriptive extract from 
Milton : 


9. Part, on the plain, or in the air sublime 
Upon the wing, or in swift race, contend; — 

(8imile.)j As at th' Olympian' games, or Pythian" fields. 
Part curb their fiery steeds, or shun the goal 
With rapid wheels, or fronted brigades form ; — 
^ r As when, to warn proud cities, war appears 
1 Waged in the troubled sky°, and armies rush 
" -I To battle in the oiouds, — before each van 

n,<jr.=^-h, Google 


„ .j^ I Prick forth the airy knights ; with feats of arma 
[ From either end of heavea the welkin buma. 

10. Others, with vast Typfaceao'' n^e more fell. 
Rend np both rocks and hills, and ride the air 
In whirlwind ; hell scarce holds the wild uproar : — 

fAs when Alcidcs", from (Echalia crowned 
With conquest, felt th' envenomed robe ; and tore, 
Through pain, up by the roots, Thessalian pines; 
And Lichas, from the top of (£ta, threw 
Into th' Euboio sea. — Book IL, JParadiae I-oat. 

' At Oljinpla, In Qreece, wflr« celebraled, erer; flfth fear, Ihe Olyn^ridn Gamm, In 
whlcli were Inclnded foot and hone races, cbarlot races, KreaUIng, leaping, boxiog, 
flic TotbeKHlltonllnt llbenBtlie Bportaatt1ie>i]g«Ia. 

■ Tbe i^ftJMan Oonua, iiliiular to the Olympian, were celebrated In honor ctf Apol- 
lo, at DelphL 

• An anclant nipentltioD, Chat enrj great war Is preceded tyj inch omeiiB In the 

' Typlia'an, ttoia ^ pho'eui, a hilled iDOOBtroos giant, who warred against the 
goda. His acatnre reached the eky ; Are Oaihed horn hla ejee ; flame and tuerm 
niahed tram hla mouth : sad with tond bleolDg eriea he bnrl«d glowing rocka against * 
heaTen. Thli table, however, la believed to be merely a penoalfleatlon of storms 
and Tolcanlc eraptieni. 

• JIcCd^auameotHercDlee. Hercnlei conqnered the king oC (S ehtlla ; after 
whlcb, maddened hj an enTenomed rohe which he had been indnc«d to pnt on, he 
tbrevrLi'duu, tbe bearer or it. Into the sea; and In bis rage tore np the pineabj their 



1. Althotigh there is little resemblance between fraternal 

concord and precious ointment, yet how auccessfnlly are 

they compared, with respect to the impression they make, 

in the foUowing language of the Psalmist ; 


" Behold, how good and how pleasant it la for brethren to 
dwell together in unity^"' ! It is like the precions ointment 
upon the head, that ran down upon the beard, — even Aaron's 
beard; — that went down to the skirts of his garment." — 
Fsalm cxxziii. 

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2. The following will illnetrate the priDciple that it height- 
ens the beauty of the comparison to discover that the object 
to which a resemblance is traced is naturally suggested; 


"The minds of the aged are like the tombs to which they 
are approaching; where, though the brass and the marble 
remain, yet the inscriptions are effaced by time, and the im- 
agery has mouldered away." This comparison is strikingly 
beautiful. The thought to be illustrated — " the minds o( 
the aged" — is in itself affecting; the transition is easy and 
natural — "to the tombs which they are approaching;" and 
the imagery brought up is in harmony with our feelings. 

3. In the following two similes, so frequently quoted,Vio- 
la, disguised as a page, and feigning to speak of another, de- 
scribes to the duke her own hidden love for him, and the ef- 
fect of its concealment ; 

" She never told her love, 
But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud, 
Feed on her damask cheek' : she pined in thought' ; 
And, with a green and yellow melancholy', 
She sat like patience on a monument, 
Smiling at grief." — Shakspbake's I2th Night. 

4. In the following beautiful simile fromParnel's Hermit, 
a pious mind, agitated with doubts, is compared to a calm 
lake disturbed by a falling stone. 


"A life BO sacred', such serene repose', 
Seem'd heaven itself, till one suggestion rose', — 
That vice should triumph', virtue" vice obey' ; — 
This sprung some doubt' of Providence's sway', 

" So, when a smooth expanse receives impressed 
Calm nature's image on its wat'ry' breast', 
Down bend the banks', the trees depending grow'. 
And skies beneath with answering colors glow' : 

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Bat if a stone the gentle sea divide, 
Swift rnffling circles curl on every side ; 
And glimmering figments of a broken mm. 
Banks, trees, and skies, in thick disorder mn." 
6. The following, which is at the conclosion of Irving's 
sketch of the life and character of King Philip, is very hap- 
pily adapted to excite in the mind of the student of lustory 
a feeling of compassionate regret at the miserable and un- 
timely fall of the last king of the Warapanoags : 

"He lived a wauderer and a fugitive in his native land, 
and went down, like a lonely bark foundering amid darkness 
and tempest, — withont a pitying eye to weep his fall, or s 
friendly hand to record his struggle." 

1. In the following, in which Julia likens the effect of 
dieoking her love for Proteus to that of damming up the 
current's course, the effect of the simile is to place her love 
in a very strong point of view. 


"Jjueetta. I do not seek to quench your love's hot 

But qualify the fire's extreme rage, [fire'; 

Lest it should burn above the bounds of reasoa 
8. "JiiHa. The more thou dam'st it up', the more it 
bums' : — 

The current, that with gentle murmur glides, 

"Hiou know'st, being stopped, impatiently doth rage ; 

But, when his fair coarse is not hindered, 

He makes sweet music with the enameled stones. 

Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge 

He overtaketh in his pilgrimage ; 

And 80 by many winding ways he strays, 

With willing sport, to the wild ocean, 
, "Then let me go, and hinder not my course: 
a. ni be as patient as a gentle stream. 

And make a pastime of each weary step. 

Till the last step have brought me to my love ; 
8. And there I'll rest, as, after much turmoil, 

A blessed soul doth in Elysium."* 

Two Gentlemen of Verona, Act H, Scene 7. 


10. In Cheever'8 Lectures on the Pilgrim's Progress there 
is a eimile in which the movementB of Bunyan's eonl, while 
be was writing that splendid allegory, are compared to a 
lonely bark in mid-ocean, tosBed by the hurricane, and driv- 
en by the tempest, but finally, amid alternating storms and 
sunshine, making, in safety, the harbor of rest. Were it not 
that the simile is clearly expressed at the beginning, the ex- 
tract would be an allegory. 

[Simile tonndedDpoii the FIgnre of Virion.] 

11. "Yon follow, with intense interest, the movements of 
Bunyan's souL You see a lonely hark driving across the 
ocean in a harricanc. By the fiashea of the lightning yoa 
can just discern her through the darkness, plunging and la- 
boring fearfnlly in the midnight tempest, and you think that 
all is lost; but there, again, yon behold her in the quiet sun- 
shine; or the moon and the stars look down upon her, as the 
wind breathes softly : or in a fresh and favorable gale she 
flies across the rolling waters. 

12. "Now it is clouds, and rain, and hail, and rattling 
thnnder; storms coming down as sudden, almost, as the 
lightning; and now again her white sails glitter in heaven's 
light, like an albatross in tlie spotless horizon. The last 
glimpse you catch of her, she is gloriously entering the har- 
bor, the haven of eternal rest ; yea, you see her like a star, 
that in the morning of eternity dies into the light of heaven. 

13. "Can there be any thing more interesting than thus 
to follow the perilous course of an immortal soul, from dan- 
ger" to safety, from conflict" to victory, from temptation" 
to triumph, from suffering" to blessedness, from the city of 
Destruction" to the city of God !" 

14. Byron, in describing Henry Kirke White, an English 
poet of great promise, whose death, in 1808, at the early 
age of twenty-one, was occasioned by excessive devotion to 
study, uses one of the most beautifiil and touching compar- 
isons that was ever penned: 

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Unhappy White ! while life was in its spring, 
And thy young mnse just waved her joyous wing, 
The spoiler swept that soaring lyre away, 
Which else bad sounded an immortal lay. 

Oh ! what a noble heart was here undone, 
When Science' self destroyed her favorite eon ! 
Yes, she too much indulged thy fond pursuit; 
She sowed the seeds, but death has reaped the fi-nit: 
'Twas thine own genius gave the final blow. 
And helped to plant the wound that laid thee low. 

So the struck eagle, stretched upon the plain. 
No more through rolling clouds to soar again, 
View'd his own feather on the fatal dart, 
And winged the shaft that quiver'd in his heart; 
Keen were his pangs, but teener far to feel 
He nursed the pinion which impeli'd the steel; 
While the same plumage that had warmed his nest, 
Drank the last life-drop of his bleeding breast. 

From English Barda and Scotch Reviewers. 

18. We close these extracts, which might easily be ex- 
tended to volumes, with Addison's beautiful description of 
Marlborough in battle, — one of the most sublime similes 
ever penned.'' 

(Battle or fileiilnlm,lTM: see p. SB, aod iIm p US.] 

19. "Twas then great Marlb'roughV mighty soul was 

That in the shock of charging hosts, unmoved, 
Amid confiision, horror, and despair. 
Examined all the dreadful scenes of war; 
In peaceful thought the field of death surveyed. 
To fainting squadrons sent the timely aid; 
Inspired repulsed battalions to engage, 
And taught the donbtful battle where to rage. 

by Google 


"So" when an angel, by divine command, 
With rising tempests shakes a gnilty land, 
(Such as, of late, o'er pale Britannia passed). 
Calm and serene he drives the fiirioas blast, 
And, pleased the Almighty's orders to perform. 
Rides on the whirlwind, and directs the storm." 

•ELfB'iuH (eUzti'llun], In ancient mytholDgy, was the abode ottbebleoed. In 
earE; timeii the Ides of the Blened were sappowd to be In the Weetera Ocean, weM 
nrEurape. AtBlBterdar,aegeagnpbli»1kno«1edgeextended,BI;Blam was moved 
down to the lower world, as Che place of reward Ibr the good. 

■ It was at the BUggeetlon ofLurdHallfaithatAddlaonwaiempIoTed to celebrate 
Id re ne the battle of Blenheba. When he showed hie patrona tbia epleodld elmile, 
he was at once rewarded with the place of Conunlsaloner of Appeal; ; and bom that 
time Fortune began to HmUe upon him. ° Fronaimcel Maufl>r6. 


J. B. CABPrartn. 
ITht Bimttt. Af the dew-drop*, gHtterlng In the maoEbeama, and sparkling ia 
tbe annUglit, soon loee thdr brl^tness, and pafia away from earth to be reest Id the 
beantlfal dyes of the rainbow, » the brightueaa and beaut; of yonth, that ao iDon 
wltber ou earth, shall bloom the more brightly Id heaven.] 

1. "O FATHEB,dear father, why pass they away, — 
The dew-drops that sparkled at dawning of day, — 
That glitter'd like stars by the light of the moon, 
Oh, why are those dew-drops disBolving so soon'' ? 
Does the sun, in his wrath, chase their brightness away, 
As though nothing that's lovely might live for a day'' ? 
The moonlight has faded — the flowers still remain. 
But the dew has dried out of their petals again." 

2, " My child," said the father, " look np to the skies ; 
Behold yon bright rainbow — those beautiful dyes; 
There — there are the dew-drops in glory reset ; 
'Mid the jewels of heaven they are glittering yet. 
Then are we not taught, by each beautiful ray, 

To mourn not earth's fair things, though fleeting away'' ? 
For though youth of its brightness and beauty be riven. 
All that withers on earth blooms more brightly in heaven." 

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3. Alae for the father^'** 1 — how little knew he 
The words he had epoken prophetic could be; 
That the beftutilul child, — the bright Btar of his day,— 
Was e'en then like the dew-drops — diBsolving away ! 
Oh ! sad was the father, when lo, in the skies 
The rainbow again spread its beauteous dy£B; 
And then he remember'd the maxims he*d given, 
And thought of hia child and the dew-di-ops — in heaven. 



(JoBH Hnm', known u Lord Hene;, a diaUagolabed political oDd poeUc*! 
writer, born Id EnKtand Id 16M; died In 1743.] 

[A ship Ib Tepresented ae seen, Brat, under fall eat], In the momjng li|;ht, borne 
gallantlr on bj a bvoiing bieeze, wltli eiery tiling biigbt and beantifal around her. 
Tet below— In tbe hold— are bamau heatta that are breaking,— banlahed, Ibr Ihelr 
crimes, lo a tardlBlaat penal colony] 

1. MoBN OD the waters — and purple and bright, 
Burst on the billows the flushinp of light; 
O'er the glad waves, like a child of the sun. 
See the tall vessel goes gallantly on ; 



Fall to the breeze Bhe onboBoms her sail, 
And her pennons stream onward, like hope in the gale ; 
The winds come around her in murmur and song, 
And the surges rejoice as they bear her along. 

2. See ! she looks up to the golden-edged clouds, 
And the sailor sings gayly aloft in the shrouds; 
Onward she glides amid ripple and spray, 
Over the waters — away" and away ! 
Bright as the visions of youth, ere they part. 
Passing away like a dream of the heart, 
Who, as the beautiful pageant sweeps by — 
Music around her, and sanshine on high — 
Pauses to think, amid glitter and show, 
Oh ! there be hearts that are breaking below ? 

[The conifiet Bblp Ifl Bean tranquilly gliding OTer (he moonlit watera, like a phan- 
tom of beantj. And jet so lovely a thing Is bcarioe awaj jonng beaita thai aoaow 
ud gallt cat) not wean from the ties and aSteUonH of home.] 

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3. Night on the waves ! — and the moon is on high, 
Hung like a gem on the brow of the sky. 
Treading in depths, in the power of her might, 
And turning the clouds as they pass her to light. 
Look to the waters I asleep on their breast, 
Seems not the ship like an island at rest'^? — 
Bright" and alone" on the shadowy main, 

Like a hearb^herished home on some desolate plain'' ? 

4. Who— as she smiles in the silvery light. 
Spreading her wings on the bosom of night, 
Alone on the deep, as the moon in the sky, 

A phantom of beauty — could deem, with a sigh, 
That so lovely a thing is the mansion of sin, 
And souls that are smitten lie barsting within'^? 
Who, as he watches her silently gliding, 
Remembers that wave after wave is dividing 
Bosoms that sorrow and guilt could not sever'' ? — 
Hearts which are parted and broken forever'^ ? 
Or deems that he watches, alone on the wave, 
The deathbed of hope, or the young spirit's grave'^? 

iHisD,Tiii amttA 
CHere tbe lOrmil compiriiian is made between the eonvlct ifa.\p at aea and the 
oaiae of lumuii lire,— ttie slniile being Introduced bj each words at ihm, Hit, and 

6. "Tis thus with our life: — while it passes along, 
Like a vessel at sea, amid sunshine and song, 
Oayly we glide in the gaze of the world, 
With streamers afloat and with canvas unfurl'd ; 
All gladness and glory to wandering eyes, 
Tet charter'd by sorrow, and freighted with sighs : 
Fading and false is tbe aspect it wears. 
As the smiles we put on just to cover our tears ; 
And the withering thoughts which the world can not 

Like heart-broken exiles, lie burning below ; 
While the vessel drives on to that desolate shore 
Where the dreams of our childhood are vanished' and 


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C^w fbllowliig hwtrnctlTe 1«iuod, In vhlcb biuun Ulb b compued to > Saet, 

were Dot plalalf eiprenmL 8«a 

1. Addison, in that beantifiil allegory, " The ViBion of 
Mirz^" compares Human Life to a bridge with seventy tol- 
erably firm and entire arches, which represent the threescore 
years and ten of man's earthly pilgrimage. Individuals, in- 
deed, oocasionally survive to th© term of a century ; but it 
is under manifest infirmities ; and hence several broken arch- 
es are supposed to be connected, at one extremity of the 
bridge, with those that are entire, making the total number 
about a hundred. 

2. Modem statistics of Life Insarance now enable us to 
trace the ontfiow of human life, and to compnte the respect- 
ive lengths of the current with wonderful exactness, in. the 
instance of great groups of mankind subject to like condi- 
tions; so that out of a largo promiscuous number who are 
bom at the same time, — or who, in Addison's figure, emerge 
from the clond and enter on the bridge simultaneonsly, — it 
can be stated with close exactitude to how many the " trap- 
doors" and " pitfalls" of the first arch will prove treacher- 
ous, or how many will die the first year; and so of each suc- 
ceeding arch in the series, 

3. Let us suppose one hundred thousand bom at the same 
date, — say January 1, 1870. According to the usual pro- 
portion among the sexes, fifty-one thousand two hundred 
and seventy-fonr will be boys, and forty-eight thonsand sev- 
en hundred and twenty-six will be girls. They may be com- 
pared to a fleet of one hundred thousand vessels setting s^l 
together, and consisting of two grand divisions, one of 
males, which may be called the red squadron, and another 
of females, which we may name the white sqnadron, 

4. At first the white squadron is inferior in number to the 
other. Owing to disease peculiarly incident to infancy, at 

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the. expiration of the first year the fleet will number only 
eighty-five thousand two hundred and sixty-nine sail, having 
lost, iQ that brief period, fourteen thousand six hundred and 
thirty-one I and the loss of the red squadron will be consid- 
erably greater than that of the white. 

fi. During the second year, five thousand two hundred and 
sixty-fleven sail will founder, and go down into the ocean 
depths, leaving eighty thousand one hundred and two afloat 
on tlie 1st of January, 1872. If we pass on to the end of 
five years, the sailing fleet will be dimiuislied to seventy- 
four thousand two hundred and one. 

6. Daring the next ten years the losses will be compara- 
tively lees, and at the end of this period, ^ty-eight thou- 
sand six hundred and twenty-seven will express the sailing 
strength of this fleet of life. The white squadron will now 
begin to suffer more than the red, and after a cruise of twen- 
ty-five years, or in 1895, the two squadrons will be nearly 
equal, leaving afloat, at this period, sixty-three thousand five 
hundred and eighty-one. 

7. During the first thirty years of the great battle of liie, 
the losses on both squadrons are nearly equal ; bat from 
this time it is the greatest in the red squadron. Of the 
twenty-four thousand five hundred and thirty-one still afloat 

■ in 1940 — seventy years from the time of sailing, — twelve 
thonsand seven hundred and eight belong to the white, and 
eleven thousand eight hundred and twenty-three to the redL 

B. But disasters thicken upon the battered fleet, so that 
at the end of eighty years only about nine thousand four 
hundred will remain. No longer can we then sing — 
"Marrily, marU; goes the bark, 
Befbie (he gate she bonnds ;" 
but languidly she floats, with patched and tattered sails, 
spliced cordage, and timbera ready to start asunder. 

9. Passing over a period of twenty years more — one hun- 
dred years from the time of starting, — and possibly eixterai 
may tiienbein sailing trim; — but in a very brief time there- 
after the last hulk of the great fleet of one hundred thou- 
sand must 'disappear, — not a wreck — not a vestige remain- 
ing onthe.great ocean of Life. 


10. Tmly, Life may well be compared to a voyage; and 
lime" the sea on which we sail 

" Give tliy mind sea-room : ke«pit wide of enith, 
That rock of BoolBinunoTtAt! let Joo»e th<r cord ; 
Weigh anchor ; spread thj bbUs ; coll ever/ wind ; 
Eye the great pole-star ; make the land of Life. " 
The voyage will then end with a delightlnl prospect: — 
" Land ^ead 1 Iti fruits are vanng 
On the MUb of (odelees green, 
Aud tba living waters' laring 
Shores nhera heavenly fbrms are Men." 


I. THB LI7B OF KAN. — BsijntOBt. 

LiKK to the filing of a star, 
Or as the flights of eagles are, 
Or like the fresh spring's gandy hue, 
Or silver drops of morning dew, 
Or like a wind that chafes the flood, 
Or bubbles which on water stood, — 
E'en such is man. 


Like leaves on trees the life of man is found', 

Now green in youth', now withering on the ground' ; 

Another race the following spring supplies, — 

They fall successive', and snccessive rise' : 

So generations in their course decay ; 

So flourish these', when those have pass'd away'. 


tStmlle and Bepetltlon. See p, SU.l—Jnon. 

She died in beauty, — like a rose blown from its parent stem; 
She died in beauty, — like a pearl dropp'd from some diadem; 
She died in beauty, — like a lay along a moonlit lake ; 
She died in beauty, — like the song of birds amid the brake; 

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She died in beanty, — like the snow on flowera dissolved 

She died in beaaty, — like a star lost on the brow of day ; — 
She Uvea in glory, — like Night's gems set round the silver 

She lives in glory, — like the sun amid the blue of Jnne. 


■ 1. Faintly flow, thou falling river, 

Like a dream that dies away ; 
Down to ocean gliding ever, 

Keep thy calm unruffled way ; 
Time with such a silent motion, 

Floats along on wings of w, 
To eternity's davk ocean, 

Burying all its treasures there. 

2. Roses bloom', and then they wither\ 

Cheeks are bright', then fade and die", 
Shapes of light are wafted hither'. 

Then', like visions', hurry by' ; 
Quick as clouds at evening dnven 

O'er the many-colored west, 
Tears are bearing ua to heaven". 

Home of bsppioess and rest. 


1. Mark that swii^ arrow' ; how it cute the air', — 

How it outruns the following eye' 1 

Use all persuafflona now', and try~ 

If thou canst call it back', or stay it there'. 

That way it went' ; but thou shalt find 
No track is left; behind. 

2. Fool' 1 Vis thy life', and the fond archer thou^ I 

Of all the time thos'at shot away, 

I'll bid thee fetch but yesterday', 

And it shall be too hard a task for thee to do^ 



Besides repentance^, wbat canst find' 
That it hath left behind'? 


Death loves a shining mark, a signal blow ; 
A blow, which, while it executes', alarms' ; 
And startles thousands with a single fall 
As when some stately growth of 6ak or pine, 
Which nods aloft and proudly spreads her shade, ■ 
The sun's defiance, and the flock's defense ; 
■S By the strong strokes of lab'ring hinds subdd'd, 
^ I Load groans her last, and mshiug from her height. 
In cnmb'rouB ruin, thunders to the ground : 
The conscious forest trepibles at the shock, 
I. And hill, and stream, and distant dale resound. 


1. Life bears us on like the stream of a mighty river. 
Our boat at first glides down the narrow channel, through 
the playful murmuring of the little brook and the winding 
of its grassy border. The trees shed their bloaaoms over 
our yonng heads, the flowers on the brink seem to offer 
themselves to our young hands; we are happy in hope, and 
we grasp eagerly at the beauties around us — but the stream 
hurries on, and still our hands are empty. 

2. Our course in youth and manhood is along a wider and 
deeper flood, amid objects more striking and mi^niflcent. 
We are animated by the moving picture of enjoyment and 
industry passing before us' ; we are excited by some short- 
lived disappointment'. The stream bears us on, and our 
joys and our griefs are alike left behind uh, 

8. We may be shipwrecked', but we can not be delayed' ; 
whether rough or smooth, the j-iver hastens toward its home, 
till the roar of the ocean is in our ears, and the tossing of 
its waves is beneath our feet, and the land lessens from our 
.eyes, and the floods are lifted up around us, and we take our 
leave of earth and its mhabitants, until of our farther voy- 
^e ffaere la no witness save the Infinite and Eternal 

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[Jnoltntt.— l.WbttlBUiJUiulDnr TaHh>tweiDayaUiida,aDd why.-«. Santa 
Afana^ aUasfoD. Tits meaalng of most daasli; alloaloiu. — fi* AlJaoioDa aaed in de- 
acrlblDg a mob. la vrhit the comparlBon conilets.— 1. BiampleB of alliuioDa. 
■ ToDlbftil excesses. > Plaglarlams o( modem poeta. • ComtptloD dlagnlaed.— 
C ■ HIoqneDce. ' lanDdaUon of lawless power. ' False philaeopbj. • Sugnatlon 
otKieDce.—t, T, 8. ■■ AllnslaDS fruia Hglmes.— 9. Qreat extent of alluelonB. Tbosa 
mentioned Id fiction.— 10. Role for their formation. Toomncb nseoftbeni.] 

1. Ah A-Uuaion is an implied compaiiBon, whicb coasists 
in a refereDce to something supposed to be known to the 
hearer or reader, but not explicitly mentioned. We may 
allude to facta in history, or to any thing whatever in wt, 
literature, or science, for the purpose of adding force or 
beauty to the thought which we wish to express; and it ia 
always with an implied comparison between the thought 
and the object used for illustration. 

2. Thus, when the vainglorious Mexican General, Santa 
Anna, on falling into the hands of Greneral Houston, after 
the battle of San Jacinto, said to him, "You have conquered 
the Xapoleon of the West," the allusion is one that almost 
any pterson would understand, and also the comparison im- 
plied in it. But the meaning of most allusions met with in 
scholarly writings is such as none but perBone of somewhat 
extensive reading can appreciate. 

3. Thus, when it is said, in describing a mob, " The mob 
is a monster', with the hands of Bria'reua', but the head of 
Polyphe'mvi^ — strong to ezQcute', but blind to perceive';" 
the allusion is, first, to the mythological Briareus, who is 
described as having a hundred hands; and, second, to the 
one-eyed giant Polyphemus, whose sight was deetroyed by 
TJlysses and his companions. The beauty and force of the 
allusion are readily perceived by classical scholara, and the 

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Btriking comparison is at once seen to condat ia likening 
tbe blind fury of a mob to the united characters of thrae 
two fabled monsters of antiquity. 

4. A few additional examples of allnsions may be given, 
to show more fully their character as implied comparisons. 

■ "The ezoessea of our yoath are drafts upon our old 
~age,pai/aHe with interest about thirty f/ears afterdated 

^ *^ Subtract from, many modem poets, all that may be 
found in Shakspeare, and trash wiU remain," 

' "To give the semblance of purity to the substance of 
corruption, is to proffer the poison of Cir'cs in a crystal 

6. ^ " Eloquence, to produce her full effect, should start 
from the head of the orator, like Minerva from the brain of 
Jove, completely armed and equipped" 

• " "Hie inundation of lawless power, after covering the 
rest of Europe, threatens England ; and we ate most criti- 
cally placed in the only position where it can be successful- 
ly repelled — in the Th&rm<y>yUjB of the universe." 

' " It is a melancholy pity when a man's philosophy, in- 
stead of being the angel that steps dvwn into the Bethesda of 
his speculations, to troul^ its waters to effect a cure, only per- 
plexes the depth of his being, and turns up mire and dirt." 

> "Xothing tends so much to the corruption of science as 
to suffer it to stagnate ; these waters must be troubled be- 
fore they can exert their virtues." — ByjiKE. 

6. From Holmes's humorons poem, " The Social Meetr 
ing," we take a couple of verses, the last of which contains 
two very happy allusions. The "Doctor" is excusing him- 
self from attending a convivial gathering, on the ground 
that it would injure his business "prospects." 

7. Besides — my prospects — don't you know that people 

won't employ 
A man that wrongs his manliness by laughing like a 

And suspect the azure blossom that unfolds upon a 

As if wisdom's old potato could not flourish at its 


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8. It's a vastly pleaaing proBpect, vfhen you're Bcnving 

ont a laagh, 
That your very next year's inoome is diminiahed by a 

Aod a Uttle boy trips barefoot, that Pegasu^ may go, 
And -the baby's milk is watered, ttat your MeUcon^ 

may flow t 

9. When we reflect that allusions are drawn from every 
variety of sources — ^from books ancieut and modem, and 
from Natnrer-it becomes apparent how extensive must be 
one's attainments to understand and appreciate all those 
that are found even in the standard literature of the age. 
So numerous have already become the allusions to noted 
persons and places mentioned in fiction, that a descriptive 
vocabulary of them has been thought necessary in Web- 
ster's Quarto Dictionary. 

10. Li originating allusions of our own, we should see to 
it that they be not labored and far-fetched, nor low and de- 
grading^ ; that they be suited to the occasion^ appropriate 
to the subject', and drawn from topics familiar to the per- 
sons addressed'. Too much use of them is chargeable with 
pedantry — an unreasonable ostentation of learning. 

* A conDneKlal allnsioti to dm/u [Htfable, nltli Intereet, at Bome tatare da;. Id 
this respect are Ihe eicesses of joatli lite Ihem. 
^ An arithmetical alliulon. 

■ An allndon to the bbled Cir'ee, who la said to have flrM haated those who laod- 
edon her Island, and afterward to hare conrerMd them into awlne,on their tastlnj; 
the conl<nls of her nURlc cap. The Rible la designed to sbow the btntalizlDg indit 
ence of Mnsnal Indntgence. 

'A classical sllnslon to Kinerva, the goddess of memory. nlBduni, and skill, who 
Is said to hsYs leaped forth, In full panoply, from the brain of Jupiter. The com- 
parison Is, tbst, in lite manner, should eloqaence be armed at all points. 

■ An aUiislon to the celebrated pass of T/iermepyia. where Leonldas and his little 
band afhsroesTllhstaod the attack of the ImmeiiM Persian host under Xerrea In 
tiis extract above, Sngland Is mmjxiral to Tbennopjlie. as being the only spot wbeie 
tbe Innndatlan of lawless pover Is tlkelTto be repelled. 

' • A Bcriptnial allnsioi!. See the Itb verse of the nth chapter ofSL John. ^ 

' /%'a*iu,anibnlons winged eteed (aRivorlte ortheUnsea], which every poet Is 

snppoeed to bestride. Hdiam, a mnnntaln in Bisatla, Qreece. From Ita sommlt 

the Fountain qf Beliconf aacred to the Mnaea, bnrst fOrLh when Pegasos strach the 

moantaln with his hoot. 

For aotlcCB of other .JUutOnu, aea Note, page SOT, end Hood's " Bridge of Sighs," 



[^no^nft.— 1. How > meUphor dlS^ra from a elmilc. lUnatrBtJon. — 1. Oreil ibnn- 
dance'or meUpbon. Scrlptare lltoBtratloDB. When Ibe metaphor becomes bnpor- 
Unt— S-OMtan-adeecrlptlonofahero. OTa yaln woman. Striking metapbor from 
Bttoo. — 1. EiplaoaClonortt E. Tbe metapbor mod by Cerdloal Wolee; In describ- 
ing tbe state of man «. " Tbo State of Uan."—T. Tbe almile. ThsTanltj ofearth- 

1t glory.— S. Edv the words in a metapbor nre to be tskea. How tbe metapbor dif- 
tenftamasbnlle. Illnsttatlanofmelaphor.— 9. Metapbor resembleapalDIiagi Its 
peculiar effect Wbat Is requisite to prodaee tbis eOSct. The reading of meUpbor. 
^Note, mixed metapb ore.] 

1. A HETAFHOB differs from a simile in form only, not 
in substance ; and is, indeed, no Other than a comparison, 
abridged by the omission of the words denoting the simili- 
tude. Thus, if we say, "A hero is like a lion," we lairly 
make a comparison ; but if we now call in the aid of the im- 
agination, and feign or figure the hero to be & lion, ve con- 
vert the simile into a metaphor ; and the figure is continned 
by describing all the qualities of a lion that resemble those 
of the hero. 

2. Metaphors abound in all writings ; and brief metaphors 
are so common, even in familiar conversation, that we no 
longer notice them as differing from plain language. From 
Scnpture a vast variety might be produced. Thus the Sav- 
ior is called a vine, a latnb, a lion/ and men, according to 
their different dispositions, are styled wolves, dogs, serpenU, 
etc. But it is when the metaphor ia not confined to single 
words that its importance, as a figure of speech, is chiefly to 
be considered. 

3. How striking is the following metaphor, in which Ob- 
sian describes a hero: " In peace~ thou art the gale of spring; 
in war~ the monnttun storm :" — and this, also, a portraiture 
of a vain woman: "She was covered with the light ofbean- 

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ty,biit her heart waB the houee of prida" Byron has the 
following striking metaphor : 

Hion pendulum betwixt s unite and teai." 

4. In this bold and brief metaphor, the writer, nsder a 
deep impression of the vicissitudes In the life of man, moved 
by sudden feeling, calls him a pendulnm, and leaves it to the 
excited imagination of tiie reader to trace ont the resem- 

6. A more continued, but no less beautiful metaphor on the 
same subject, is that in which Cardinal Wolsey', suddenly 
stripped of all his wealth and honors, keenly feeling the dis- 
grace into which he had fallen by the king's disfavor, but 
struggling to bear his miafortune with dignity, in the fol- 
lowing soliloquy describes the state of man under the figure 
of a tree, but with the covert meaning that the picture is 
drawn from his own eiperienca 

6. " Farewell, a long farewell, to all mj greatness ! 

This is tbe Etala of man : to-ds;~ he puis forth 
The tender learas of hope; to-morrow' blossoms, 
And bears his blushing honors thick upon him : 
The third d&;~ comes a frost' — a kiUing frost' ; 
And— when he thinks', good easy man', foil aorelj 
Hie greatneta is a ripening' — nipa hia root'. 
And Uien he taHa', as I' do.'" 

7. Then dropping the metaphor, and introducing a simile, 
in the moat touching language he thus describes himself: 

" I have Tentured, 
Like little wanton hojs that swim on bladders, 
This manj nmunov in a sea of gko; ; 
Bnt tar beyond my dspQi : my high-blown pride 
At length broke under me ; and now has left me 
Weoiy, and old with service, to the mercy 
Of a rude stream, that must fbrerer hide me. " 

Then, how naturally, and with what feelings of almost loath- 
ing satiety, he alludes to the vanity of all earthly glory : 
"Tain pomp, and ^oiyof this world, I hate ye: 
I fed my heart new (^)ened : oh, how wretched 
Is that poor man, that hongs 00 princes' favors I" 

SBUEBFBAa>'s BenmVlIL, Act III., Scene 2. 

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8. From the examples that have been given, it is seen that 
the words in a metaphor are not taken literally, as in a com- 
parison, but are changed from their proper to a figurative 
sense. Hence, while a simile asserts nothing but what is 
troe, a metaphor asserts what is literally /o^ When we 
say, of some great man, *' He is the pillar of the state," we 
mentally compare the man to a pillar which supports the 
weight of a whole edifice ; and, by the abmpt manner in 
which we express the happy comparison, we form a bold 
picture which conveys a striking truth. 

9. There is nothing which delights the fancy more than 
this mode of comparing things ; and, of all the figures of 
speech, no other comes so near to painting as metaphor. Its 
peculiar effect is to give light and strength to description; 
to make intellectual ideas, in some sort, visible to the eye, 
by giving them color, and substance, and sensible qualities. 
Bat, in order to produce this effect, a delicate hand is re- 
quired in their construction, and taste and^udgment in their 
use.' In the reading of a prolonged metaphor, the same 
principles apply as in the reading of a simile, 

* Thohu Woliit, wliD lot onees jetn beld olmnet unlimited iwsy In Englind. 
lluongta his Inllaence over tbe mind of tbe Hag, HenirVnl^ and wbo paraemed 
gniLer milth, power, aod honor* than airer fell U> Uia kit otuiy otim Xngllih «ib- 
Ject, WW bom at Ipewlcb In llTl, afbumble and obacnre pareDt& S[gbl hundted 
■erranta, !nc3ndtDg geatlemm knigbtc, and even jonnE DoblemoD, Mtred In Ihe 
tain of Wolnj, who wu advanced to the dlgnltf ofCardlul, and CbaocaUor ofSn- 

At lenKlh the BcUs king qnarreled with trig mlclster. W» offlce and Incomea 
were taken from him, and tha lata primate of lbs realm fled on a mule to Leicester 
Abbe;. As the abbot and monha met blm at the gale, he exclaimed, " Father Ab- 
bot, 1 am come to lay my wesrj boiiea among yon." On hlfl aBtmnjace of approach- 
ing death, he exclaiiDed, "If I had Herred my Godaa dlllgentJ; as 1 hare Barred my 
king, ha woold not have ^ven me over in my gray halra." 

* Obaerre the nae and beanty of the JUetorioal PatiM tn this extract. See Bala 


■ A treqneot halt of yoang and ImaflnatiTe writers Is the appllcatloD. to tbe same 
■nltfect, of miXBt metaphon . that Is, of anch ai are Inconsistent irltb each other. 
Vhe fOUowlng ie an example of this Inaccuracy ; 

In the b^lnning of thle extract the mnae la flgated u a Aoras, and tberelbie miy be 
tridlaf ,- tnit when wa Bpeak of lawu^Mne It, we make It a stilp, which, by do fon« 
of ImaglnatloD, can be bridltd. BIther flgare alone would have been appiopilate, 
but ibe mingling of Ha two la an tncoDgroily. 




ts betwef D metapbor tnd itmiki. 

. [Oiatof; raprM«nl«d sa A F\i>ad.\ 
Thb QUghty flood of speech runs on in a channel ever fall, 
but which never overflows. Whether it mabes in a torrent 
of allusions', or moves along in a majestic exposition of en- 
larged principles', descends hoarse and beadldng in over- 
wlielming invective', or ghdes melodious in narrative and 
description', or spreads itself out shining in illustration'^, its 
course is ever onward' and entire' — never scattered', never 
stagnant', never aluggUh'. — Bkouoham. 


CTIiic example commesceB with two rormal aligUei, and afterwud cbsnEM Into 
a Ter; bippj metspfaor, ia whicli poeuy la repT»ented as being A ^mtSMag Ihat 
producee its beet ezblblUods Id ■ dark age^] 

Poetry produces an illusion on the eye of the mind, as a 
magic lantern produces an illusion on the eye of the body; 
and as a magic lantern acts best in a dark room, poetry ef- 
fects its pnrpose best in a dark age. As the light of knowl- 
edge breaks in upon its exlubitions', as the outlines of cer- 
tainty become more and more definite', and the shades of 
probability more and more distinct', the lines and lineamente 
of the phantoms which it calls up grow fainter and fainter, 
— Edifdmrgh Hetsiew. 


(Tbe SoDlh American BepabUca are reprenDted aa A Sea Cnatbm lUng oat at 
tbe aea.1 

When the battle of Bunker Hill was fought, tbe existence 
of South America was scarcely felt in the civilized world. 
Bome down by colonial subjugation, monopoly, and bigotry, 
those regions of the South were hardly visible above the 
horizon. But in our day there has been, as it were, a new 
creation. The southern hemisphere emei^es from the sea. 

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Its lofty monntainB begin to lift themselves into the light 
of heaven ; its broad and fertile plains stretch out in beauty 
to the eye of civilized man, and at the mighty bidding (^ 
the voice of political liberty, the waters of darkneea retire. 
— DA^nzi. Wbbstbb. 

[Tha inonniiuint nprawmMd *■ A ^taktr luoeklmlDg Itbertr, etc] 
That motionleas sha0i Till be the most powerful of speak- 
ers. Its speech will be of civil and religioas liberty. It 
. will speak of patriotism and of cour^^ It will speak of 
the moral improvement and elevation of mankind. De- 
crepit i^e will lean against its base, and ingenuons youth 
gather round it, and speak to each other of the glorious 
events with which it is cemented, and exclaim, " Thank God, 
I also am an American." — ^Daioel Webstbb. 

(LItB repreieoted w A mnter't Diiji.l 
OvCt life is but a winter's day — 
Some only break&st, and away ; 
Others to dinner stay, and are well fed : 
The oldest man but sups, and goes to bed. 
Lai^e is his debt who lingers out the day: 
Who goes the soonest' has the least to pay\ 


[Life represvated tu A iSeo— tbe prennt befog flood Ude.] 

There is a tide in the afiairs of men, 

Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune ; 

Omitted, all the voyage of their life 

Is bound in shallows and in miseries. 

On such a full sea are we now afloat; 

And we must take the current when it serves, 

Or lose our ventures. 

£rutu» in Julius Ccesar, Act IV., Scene 3. 

=^-h, Google 


[Ths Soul dMcHbed nndec dUferent ngniM.] 
The Boul, on earth, is an immort:al ffuesl, 
CompeLl'd to starve at an noreal feast : 
A epark~ which upward tends by nature's force ; 
A streamT diverted from its parent source ; 
A drop~ dissever'd from the bonndless sea ; 
A mometif parted from eternity ; 
Apilffrim" panting for a rest to come ; 
An escile~ aoxioos for his native home. — H. Mobb. 

Tm. malvina's qbief. 

CHaMii*, in b«T (rM Ibr tbe death of tlia aoit oT'ouIui, dweribea heraelt u A 

Thou dwellest in the soul of Malvina, son of mighty Os- 
sian. My sighs arise with the beam of the east : my tears 
descend with the drops of night I was a lovely tree in thy 
presence, Oscar, with all my branches round me; but thy 
death came like a blast from the desert, and laid my green 
head low ; the spring returned with its showers, but no leaf 
of mine arose. — ^M'Phbbson. 


(BnuAjnK FiunuH, in emloeDt pbllosopfaer, BtalsBinui, and pnttiol, wu born 
In Boston, Hau., In noe. He vae for masr ^stb a printer In FhllRdelphli ; be 
heid TUinns public ofllces, end, ae embBseador to France, ba signed tbe treatj ol 
alUenccwlCbUititcomitmatTTa He died in inO. 

Tbe Tollawing leeson, In which different claBses of Individaals are declared to t* 
{not to be [fJxi different kinds otpapen, is a good iUnalratlDn of the plain meta- 
pbor, and aervea to abow, very ckarlr, how tbls llgnre dlffen trom timilt.1 

I. Sous wit of old — such wits of old there were — 
Whose hints showed meaning', whose allusions care", 
By one brave stroke to mark all human kind'. 
Called dear blank paper' every in&nt mind'. 
Where still, as opening sense her dictates wrote'. 
Fair Virtue' put a seal', or Vice" a blot\ 
Tbe thought' was happy', pertinent', and true' I — 
JUethinks a genins might Uie plan pursue. 

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I— (can yon pwdon my presamption' f)^I, 
No wit', no genius', yet, for once', will try\ 

2. Varions tbe papers' various wants prodnce' ; 
The wants of &6hion\ elegance', and use'. 
Men are as varions' ; and, if right I scan'. 
Each sort of paper represents some man. ' 

3. Pray note the/cp — half powder, and half lace I 
Nice as a bandbox is his dwelling-place; 

He's the gilt paper" which fools baigEun for. 
And lock from vulgar hands in the Bcrutoire*. 

4. Mechanics', merchants', farmers', and so forth', 
Are copy-paper''' of snperior worth' ; 

Most prized' ; most osefiii' ; for your desk decreed' ; 
Free to all pens', and prompt at every need. 

5. The miser next, who'll freezej and pinch, and spare, 
Starve, cheat, and pilfer, to enrich an heir, 

Is coarse braionpap^^; snch as peddlers choose 
To wrap np wares, which better men will use. 

6. Take next the arrant spet^tJtrift, who destroys 
Health, fame, and fMtune,in a round of joys. 
Will any paper match him P Yee, throughout : 
He's a true sinking papei" past all doubt. 

7. The retail politician's anxious thought 

Deems this side always right', and that stark nanght' : 
He foams' with censure' ; with applause' he raves' ; 
A dnpe tq rumors', and a tool to knaves' ; 
He'll want no type his weakness to proolum, 
While such a thing aa fools-cap' has a name. 

a l^e hasty gentleman, whose Blood runs high ; 
Who picks a quarrel if yon step awry ; 
Who can't a jest, a hint, or look endure 1 — 
What is he'?— What'! — TbacA^wspei^, to be aure^ 


9. Newspaper rhym^'*' ! (take them as they fall- 
Good, bad, rich, poor, miich read, not read at all) — 
Them, and their ■works, in the same class you'll find : 
They are — the mere waate paper of mankind. 

10. Observe the maiden, innocently sweet ! 
She's fair white paper! an nnsullted sheet, 
On which the happy man, whom fate ordains. 
May write his name, and take her for hia pains. 

11. One instance more, and only one, I'll bring! 
'tis" the great man who scoma a little thing; 
Whose thonglit", whose deeds', whose maxims' are his 
Formed on the feelings of his heart alone. [own\ 
Tra6,genmne, royal pap&r is his breast:— 

Of all the Mads' moat predoue, purest, best. 

* Sera loir' (Bcroo twor^, a cabinet desk, nlth a Ud openioK downward, fOr the 
conrenleDce otwiiilug npoo It 

■> SinUiig-paper, a flnanelal paper need to link or ezdngnlsh a debt So Qie 
apendtbrllt tinti bis liirtaiie. 

* FBBli.cap, BO colled fiom the n ater-maik of a loora cap and belle need b; Ibe 
old paper-maken. 

' Trmcli^apa; paper steeped in aaltpetrc, and naed a> a maleb tor firing gnu- 


[J. UifiOH Good, a phjsldan, poet, and pbllologlEl,— and a mio 
IcDOWledgef— was born tn England In ITU: died In 182T. 

LIA is bere deacribed nader three dlBtlnct metapbore,— aa, a 
and a trar/ort-j 

i. Life m a sea, — how fair its face' ! 
How smooth its dimpling waters' pace' ! 

Its canopy^ how pure' ! 
But rocks below, and tempests sleep 
Insidious, o'er the glassy deep, 
Nor leave an boor secure. 

2. X4fe is a vnldmieaB, — ^beset 

With tano;ling thorns, and treachVous net, 

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And prowl'd by beastB of prey. 
One path alone conducts aright, 
One narrow path, with little light; 

A thousand lead aetray. 

S. Life ia a warfare, — and alike 
Prepared to parley, or to strike, 

The practiced foe draws nigh. 
Oh, hold no truce 1 less dangerous far 
To stand, and all his phalanx dare, 

1ha,a trust his ep€cions lie. 

4. Whate'er its form\ whate'er its flow', 
While life is lent to man below', 

One duty stands confess'd', — 
To watch incessant, Arm of mind, 
And watch~ where'er the post aasign'd, 

And have to God the rest. 



[Hinklnd deKribed onder the meUphor of StitionilmaLl 

1. Thebe is nothing more true than that "whatsoever a 
man soweth, that shall he also reap ;" and we have abun- 
dant proof, in the every-day experience of life, that "he that 
soweth iniquity shall reap iniquity ;" that " they that plow 
iniquity, and sow wickedness, shall reap the same;" and 
that those who have " sown the wind shall reap the whirl- 
windL" And then, again, we have the comforting assurance, 
that if we " be not weary in well-doing, in due season we 
shall reap, if we faint not ;" and that " to him that soweth 
righteousness shall be a sure reward." These are meta- 
phors in which all men are described as hnsbandmen, sow- 
Ing the seeds for the harvest, and reaping the fruits thereo£ 

2. They are sowing their seed in the di^light fair". 
They are sowing their seed in the noonday glare', 



They are sowing their seed in the soft twilight'. 
They are sowing their seed in the solemn night" j 
What shall their harvest he? 

3. Some are sowing their seed of pleasant thonght; 
In the spring's green light they have blithely wrought ; 
They have hroaghttheir fandes from wood and dell, 
Where the raoBses creep, and the flower-buds swell ; 
Rare shall the harvest be I 

i. Some are sowing the seeds of word and deed. 
Which the cold know not, nor the careless heed, — 
Of the gentle word and the kindest deed 
That have blessed the heart in its sorest need : 
Sweet shall the harvest be ! 

5. And some are sowing the seeds of pain, 
Of late remorse, and in maddened brain; . 
And the stars shall fall, and the sun shall wane, 
Ere they root the.weeds irom the soil again : 

hark will the harvest be ! 

6. And some are standing with idle hand, 
Yet they scatter seeds on their native land; 
And some are sowing the seeds of care. 
Which their soil has borne, and etill must bear : 

Sad will the harvest be 1 

1. And each, in his way, is sowing the seed 
Of good or of evil, in word or deed : 
With a careless hand o'er the earth they sow, 
And the fields are ripening where'er they go: 
What shall the harvest be? 

8l Sown in darkness', or sown in light', 
Sown in weakness', or sown in might'. 
Sown in meekness', or sown in wrath\ 
In the broad work-field', or the shadowy path'*— 
SuBB will the harvest be 1 



[JnaI]Wit— 1. Whtl it AnlUhegwr UlaBtTBlIonB.— a. Simplest fbrma oT tbis fig- 

DTB. Eiamplee 3. Oood eismple Trotti the Apoetle Paal.— 4. Wben aDtllhesBS are 

tbe most otrlkitig sad pUulng. Examplea.— B. Bmte anlnulB compared with man. 

—4. Sxleat ta nblcb tbe principle of antltheele may be carried T, Muims, proT- 

etba, and moral ujingB. Antithetic chaplerB In Proverba. Theeplgrani 8, Whan 

aDtUbeslB becomea tlrcBoine. Metaphorical illpatrallon oTaiititheels,— 0. The read- 
ing oT anttttaetic claoees.] 

1. AbtIibbsis is a figure of speech by which two or more 
objects, words, or sentimeDts are compared by being brought 
into contrast. We oppose white'~to black', virtue'" to vice', 
courage'~to cowardice*, health'" to sickness', weal th'"^ to pov- 
erty', wisdom"" to folly\ happiness'" to misery'*; and each 
appears the more marked by the opposition in which we 
place it. 

2. In the simplest forms of antithesis, single words, or ob- 
jects, are brought into contrast, as in tbe followiag exam' 

" Yel, at thy caU, the hard; tar pnrsaed, 
"Pale'~, bat inlr^d'; »aif~, hnt uiuoirfMif . " 

"In reading, be careful to distingnish between a tho^tghtT 

and & feeling' — an idea'~ and a aentimetU'." 

3. 'The Apostle Paul, speaking in the plural number, de- 
clares to the Coristhians that he bad approved himself a 
&ithfu1 minister by a patient endurance of all the trials that 
be had passed throngh, — " by honor"" and dishonor^ by evil 
reporf" and good' report; as deceivers'", and yet true'; as 
nnknown*", and yet well' known ; as dying"", and behold we 
live' ; as chastened'", and not killed' ; as sorrowful'", yet al- 
ways rejoicing' ; as poor'", yet making many rich' ; as hav- 
ing nothing'", and yet possessing ail' things*," 

4. AntitfaescB are the most striking and pleasing when 


the seDtences expressing the contrasts are similarly con- 
structed, and made to correspond to each other. Thus : 
" CicBar died a violent death', but his empire remained^ : 
Cromwell died a natural death', but his empire vanished'." 
— "Melissa, like the bee', gathere honey' from every weed'; 
while Arachne, like the spider', sucks poison' from the fait^ 
eat flowers'." 

5. In the following, brute animals are compared, by an- 
ttthesis, with man, and mortality with immortality. 

"The lamb gambols alike through the green pastures', or 
to the pl&ce of slaughter'. Tip to the last flutter of her 
wings', the bird ceases not to trill her matins upon the air\ 
But the only immortal being upon the earth lives in dread 
of death. The only being to whom death is an imposMbil- 
ity', fears every day that it will come'." 

6. While the simplest fonn of antithesis is that which ex- 
ists between opposing words, yet this figure is easily extend- 
ed, not only to opposing clauses, but also to opposing sen- 
tences, as in some of the examples already given. Yet the 
principle of antithesis does not end here; for it extends to 
all contrasted thoughts that are presented under one view, 
however far apart they may stand in the order of their ar- 

7. M&xims, proverbs, and moral sayings that are specially 
designed for the annonn cement ofstriking truths, very prop- 
erly take the antithetical form, because they thus make the 
strongest impression upon the mind, and are the most easily 
remembered. The tenth chapter of the Proverbs of Solo- 
mon, and the four succeeding chapters, are a continued se- 
ries of antithetical sentences. In the epigram, which is a 
brief expi-ession of some startling thought, generally, and, 
most properly, in a poetic form, antithesis finds an appro- 
priate place. 

8. Bnt this flgure, so beautiful and forcible when properly 
and sparingly employed in contrasting thoughts rather than 
mere words, appears studied, and labored, and monotonous- 
ly tiresome when carried to excess, — and when the impres- 
sion is conveyed that an author attends more to the tnanner 
of saying things than to the things themselves. It has been 



well remarked, in a truthful metaphor, that "antithesis may 
be the blossom of wit; bufit will never arrive at maturity 
nnlesB sound sense be the trunk, and truth the root." 

9. In the reading of closely connected antithetic clauses, 
we naturally express the first clause of the contrast in a bt- 
tle higher tone of voice than we apply to the latter, with a 
prolonged pause between them; and, frequently, with the 
rhetorical pause after each of the two strongly contrasted 
words, as in the following example. "Sbmer~ was the 
greater genius', — Virffil' the better artist'." The same 
principle is carried out, more or less fully, in the more com- 
plex examples of continuous antithesis. {See Lesson LUI., 
"Tact and Talent." 




He waged more wars'' than others had read' of; con- 
quered more provinces'' than others had governed' : and he 
had been trained up, from his youth', to the art of war'; not 
by the precepts of others', but by his own commands'; not 
by miscarriages in the field', but by victories'; not by cam- 
pfugns', but by triumphs'. — Ciceeo. 


1. As there is a worldly happiness' which God perceives 
to be no more than disguised misery"; as there are worldly 
honors' which in his estimation are reproach" ; so there is a 
worldly wisdom" which in hw sight is foolishness*. 

2. Of this worldly wisdom', the characters are given in 
the Scriptures', and placed in contrast with those of the 
wisdom which is irom above'. The one is the wisdom of 
the crafty" ; the other, that of the upright' : the one termi- 
nates in selfishness" ; the other in charity' : the one is full 
of strife and bitter envyinga"; the other, of mercy and of 
good fruits'. — De. Bi-aib. 


Ita nrled ■dapUIIoaa conlrulel 

1. Coeval with the infancy of time", it Still remaiDB, and 
widens in the cii-cle of its intelligence. Simple as the lan- 
gnage of a child', it charms the most fastidioua taBte\ 
Mournful as the voice of grief", it reaches to the highest 
pitch of e2:ultation\ Intelligible to the unlearned peasant", 
it supplies the critic and the sage with food for earnest 

2. Silent and secret as the reproofs of oonsoienoe', it 
echoes beneath the vaulted dome of the cathedral, and 
shakes the trembling multitude. The last companion of 
the dying and destitate~, it seals the bridal vow, and 
crowns the majesty of kings. Closed in the heedless grasp 
of the luxurious and the slothful"", it unfolds its awful record 
over the yawning grave. Bright and joyous as the morn- 
ing star to the benighted traveler', it rolls like the waters 
of the deluge over the path of him who willfully mistakes 
his way. — ^Mbs. Etj.Ts. 


1. Homer" was tbe greater genius', — ^Virgil"" the better 
artist' ; in the one, we most admire the man', in the other, 
tbe work\ Homer hurries us on with a commanding im- 
petuosity"; Virgil leads us with aa attractive majesty'. 
Homer scatters with a generous profusion"; Virgil bestows 
with a oareful magnificence'. Homer", like the Nile', ponrs 
out his riches with a sudden overflow' ; Virgil", like a river 
in its banks', with a constant stream'. 

2. Homer is in his province when he is describing a battle 
or a multitude, a hero or a god; Vir^ is never better pleased 
than when he is in his elysinm, or copying out an entertain- 
ing picture : Homer's persona are most of them godlike and 
terrible ; Vii^il has scarce admitted into his poem any who 
are not beantifiil, and has taken particular care to throw 
the moat winning charms around his hero. — ^Addison. 


In one mood of mind we love Cowper best; in another. 



ThomBon. Cowper set* natare before your eyea — ^Thom- 
son' before your imagination. There is a delightful dis- 
tinctuess in all the pictures of the bard of Olney* — a glorious 
gloom or glimmer in moat of those of the bard of Ednam^. 
Cowper paints trees — Thomson , woods. Thoniaon paints, 
in a few wondrous lines, rivers from source to sea, like the 
mighty Barampooter — Cowper, in many no very wondrous 
lines, brightens up one bend of a stream, or awakens our 
jancy to the murmur of some single waterfall — F&ofebsob 
Wilson (Christopher North). 


1. But, waving all other circumstances, let us balance the 
real situation of the opposing parties : from that we can 
form a true notion of how very low our enemies are reduced. 
Here, regard to virtue' opposes insensibility to shame' ; here 
purity' opposes pollution' ; integrity', injustice'; virtue', vil- 
lainy' ; resolution', rage' ; dignity', defilement' ; regularity', 

2. On one side are ranged equity", temperance', courage', 
prudence', and every virtue' ; on the other', iniquity', lux- 
ury', cowardice', rashness', with every vice'. Lastly, the 
struggle lies between wealth' and want' ; the dignity', and 
the degeneracy' of reason ; the force', and the frenzy' of the 
soul; between well-grounded hope', and widely-extended 
despair'. In such a strife, in such a struggle as this', even 
though the zeal of men were wanting', must not the immor- 
tal gods give such shining virtues the superiority over bo 
great and such complicated vices'? — Cicebo. 


1. Language images forth the soul of man in all its states 
and conditions, and is the expression of his whole being. 
RHEiOiuc employs the whole power of language, in its 

various forms, to image forth the soul of the orator, the 

•CowFRK,borD iD 1131. long r«tided U OlTieti.lii BnclclnEhBinBhlre, in England. 
'TKaiiK>H|iiiia<irtbeiDOslpopaUrofBiigllslipoeta,naB bomttt £dniim, In Box- 
bntghahln, In tbe ytia ITOO. 

=^-h, Google 


poet, or the elegant proee writer, for the OQmbined purpose 
of conviotioD and perauasioD. 

2. Loaic is contented with one principal form of language, 
namely, the PropoBition, in ite various uses. It formally lays 
down its premises, and with the rigor of a mathematical dem- 
onstration proceeds \o the conclusion, to which it compels 
the cold assent of reason. Rhetoric looks at the form of a 
'sentence that would satisfy Logic, and, rejecting it as tame 
and inexpressive, demands what is vivid and striking. 

3. Logic calmly makes a statement, and says, "My will is 
that you should come." Rhetoric uses the language of de- 
mand, and says " Come !" Logic reasons, and coolly aays, 
"Men are ungratefiiL" Rhetoiic Jeels, and in the wannth 
of passion exclaims, " O the ingratitude of men !" Logic 
meekly says, " I wish to know who thou art." Rhetoric 
calls out in trumpet tones, " Who art thou !" 


[Abridged from a TOluroe onlltled "The Snnset land," by Riv. Johh Toiin,of 
ntufleld, Man. In tblB Leuon CiUfomts 1b all (he mora Ibrciblj described b; 
Gomparli^ II, antltbellcslly, wHb lu oppoelle In so idruj' regpeets— Hen EagUnd. 
For IberaadiiigorantllheUcclanBeB, Bee Bute VI.,Mot«s, etc.! and aI»o verse » on 

1, How different, in all respects, is California from our 
New England ! Jlere, in New England', the winds hurry, 
and scurry, and change, often many times a day' : (Acre" 
they unchangingly blow in one direction for six months, 
and then the opposite for six months. Mere' the earth 
rests in winter : there~ they have no winter, and her rest is 
in the summer. 

2, Serf we have storm, and heat, and cold: there" they 
have no storms, nor rain in summer, and only rain in win- 
ter. Here" our trees shed their leaves : tkeTe~ they w%ar 
their varnished covering the year round^ while some of 
them, like the bronzed madrdna, shed their hark annnally, 

jind keep on their bright gi-een, waxen leaves. 

3, Bere" the woodpecker goes to the old tree and knocks, 
and wakes up the worm, and then pecks in and gets him : 

r:,,r.=^i by Google 


there' the ■woodpecker bores a thousand holes in the great 
pine-tree, into each of which he throats au acorn; and in 
the acorn the miller deposits her egg, and the woodpecker 
calls and takes it after it has become a good-sized worm. 
Here' the owl lives in the hollow tree : therf he burrows 
in the ground with the strange gray gronnd-sqnirrel, or in 
the hole of the rattlesnake, or in that of the prairie dog. 

4. Here' the elder ia a bush : there' I have seen it a tree 
whose trunk is a foot in diameter. Here' the lemon-ver- 
bena is a fiower-pot plant : there" it ia a bush nine feet high. 
Here~ the mustard-seed yields a small plant ; there" it is a 
tree, often seventeen feet high. Here" we have a few grape- 
vines in a grapery : theriT you will find five thousand acres 
in a single vineyard. 

5. Sere' yon will see a single oleander beautifying a wa- 
gle parlor : there" you will find a hundred clamps in full 
blosaom in a single yard, amid what looks like showers of 
roses. Herf we make the Ethiopian calla bloom in the 
conservatory: there" it blossoms in every grave-yard, and 
at the head of almost every grave. 

6. Here we have the thick green turf on our soil : th»e 
they have no turf; — and not a dandelion, daughter of the 
turf, grows in all California. Here the sun paints the grass 
green : there he turns it brown. Here you see the farmer 
carefully housing his hay, and little patch of wheat: there 
he cuts no hay except to supply the cities, and reaps and 
threshes his wheat in the fields, and throws the bags down 
to lie all summer, sure that neither rain nor dew will hurt it. 
Sere every thing is small : there the trees, and all the vege- 
table world, are so large that you are tempted to doubt the 
evidence of your senses. 

1. In the summer, the Talleys of California are so turned 
np to the sun, that every thing matures and ripens quickly 
and early. They gather their crops by the middle of May. 
Then the graas has dried up, all seeded, but still making 
rich pasture for the cattle, — and there is no part of the year 
when the flocks fatten so fast as when they eat what we 
should call the dried-up gi-aes in the fields,— good for noth- 
ing Acre, bnt full of seed and nourishment there, 

n,<jr.=^-h, Google 


S. From May to November ihere is neither rain nor dew 
in California; and sb there are do clouds, so there is no 
thunder. The ground on the surface parches, and cracks, 
and wrinkles ; and the earth rests till the fall raina. The 
beautiful green of field and meadow, of landscape, hill, and 
dale, which makes New England bo lovely, is all gone. You 
must wait till the next winter, when tee are covered with 
Hnow, to see t^r creation all fresh and green, February is 
their month of beauty and of glory, as June is <»tra. 

9. In the great central valley of California the fig jrields 
her three crops a year; — and there the pomegranate and 
the almond, the nectarine, the peach, the cherry, the apple, 
the pear, and, above all, the grape, have their home; and all 
grow with a rapidity, and bear with a profusion, that is al- 
most beyond beliefl 

10. lu the vast and lofty mountains of this "Sunset Land," 
— in its bewitching valleys, — in its peculiarities of climate, 
— ^in the gorgeous drapery of its trees and flowers, — in the 
sleeping gold and silver yet unfonnd, — in the fertility of 
soil, and great wealth yet to come from it, — in its relations 
to the Orient, — I see a future for this part of our land, great 
in results, wide in their reach, fearful for good or for evil to 
the human family, but all — all under the orderings of a God 
iufiuite in wisdom as in power. 


[We bave an exmnpte, in this LesaoD, of antltlieslB extended to conCrsaLed Tinra 
of Buldscta that cat aeparatel; explained at some length, bo thxt tbe aalitheida la 
not ftdlj aeen mtU tbe whole ha* been read. The mora immediate antithetic 
claoaes are, "There Is giief," "There Is bitas' r and tba two, howsrer wldelf 
apart, are to be read as Uthe; were In Immediate loxtaposHdon-l 

1. Thbbb is grief, there iB grief', there is wringing of 
And weeping, and calling for aid; [hands'. 

For sorrow hath summon'd her group, and it stands 
Roimd the couch where the snSerer is laiiL 

■ ii,Gi:H)(^Ie 


And lips are all pallid, and cheeks are all cold, 
And tears from the heart-eprings are shed ; 

Yet who that looks on the sweet saint to behold, 
Bat would gladly lie down in her stead. 

2. There is grief, there is grief, there is anguish and strife, 

And the sufferer is striving for breath; 
For the spirit will cling, oh I how fondly, to liie, 

And stem is the struggle with death ! 
But the terrible conflict grows deadlier still, 

nil the last fatal symptoms have birth ; 
And the eyeball is glazed, and the heait-blood is chill ; — 

And this~ is the portion of eabth ! 

n. BBAVEir. 

3, There is bliss", there is bliss\ in the regions above. 

They have opened the gates of the sky; 
A spirit haa soar's to those mansions of love, 
And seeks for admittance on high : 

■ ii,Gi:H)(^Ie 


And friendB loDg divided are haating to greet, 
In a taod Inhere no sorrow may come. 

And the graphs are eager a Bister to meet, 
And to welcome the child to its home. 

4. There is bliss, there is bliss, at the foot of the throne; 

See the spirit all purified bend; 
And it beams with delight, since it gazes ^one 

On the face of a father — a friend I 
Then it joins in the anthems forever that rise, 

And its frailty or folly forgiven. 
It ifl dead to the earth, and new-born to the skies; — 

And this ii the portion of Heaven ! 


[The foltowlDg eompirlBOTi, drawn tuitltbeUcall<r between Tatt and Taltnt, hii 
been aMrtbnted to Lord Jemvy, tbe prince oTBngllBti crlllca, an eminent luw^er, a 
learaad Jadge, and one of the orlglaatore of the Edlnbnigb Berlew. He wu boru 
ia Bdinbargh, Scotland, in 1T1B; died in ISSO. 

This Lesson famishes oneorilie finest aad besl-siietaliied examples of eontlDDooi 
nntltbeits that conid be prodnced. It also (hrnishee ezcellenc lltDetratious of (be 
principles embraced In the Elocntlonarj Rules VL, VIL, VIII., and XnL] 

1. Talent" is something', but t^ict~ is every' thmg. Tal- 
ent' ia serions', sober', grave', and respectable**'' : tacf^'n all 
tbat\ and more too\ It is not a sixth sense', but it is tbe 
life of all the five'. It is the open eye', the quick ear', the 
judging taste*, the keen smell', and the lively touch'^'- ; it 
is the interpreter of all riddles', the suimounter of all diffi- 
ealties', the remover of all obstacles'*'*'. It is useful in all 
places', and at all times'^ ; it is useful in solitude', for it 
shows a man his way into'' the world ; it is useful in so- 
ciety', for it shows him his way through'' the world'. 

2. Talent^ is power', tact~ is skill'; talent' is weight', 
tdct~ is momentum'; talent' knows wAoC to do, (ac(~ knows 
how'' to do it; talent' makes a man respectable', taet~ will 
make him respected'; talent' is wealth', tact" ia ready 
money'. For all the practical purposes of life', tact carries 
it i^ainst talent ten to one. 



3. Take tbem to the theatre^ and put them against each 
other on the Btage\ and talent' shall prodace you a tragedy 
that will scarcely live long enough to be condemned', -while 
tact' keeps the bonee in a roar, night after night, with its 
successful iarces. There is no want of dramatic talent' ; 
there is no want of dramatic tact'; but they are seldom to- 
gether' ; so we have successful pieces which are not respect- 
able', and respectable pieces which are not succcssfal'. 

4. Take them to the bar, and let them shake their learned 
cnrls at each other in legal rivalry ; talent' sees its way clear- 
ly,but tact' is first at its journey's end. Talent' bas many 
a compliment from the bench, bat tact' touches fees from 
attorneys and clients. Talent' speaks learnedly and logi(V- 
ally, tact'" triumphantly, 

5. Talent' makes the world wonder that it gets on no 
&ster; tact' excites astonishment that it gets on so fast. 
And the secret is, that it has no weight' to carry ; it makes 
no false steps' ; it hits the right nail on the head' ; it loses 
no time' ; it takes all hints' ; and is ready to take advantage 
of every wind that blows'. 

6. Talent calculates slowly, reasons logically, makes out 
a case as clear as daylight, and utters its oracles with all 
the weight of justice and rpason. Tact refutes without con- 
tradiction, puzzles the profound with profundity, and with- 
out art outwits the wise. Set them together on a race for 
popularity, and tact will distance talent by half the course. 

7. Talent brings to market that which is wanted; tact 
produces that which is wished for. Talent instructs; tact 
enlightens. Talent leads where no one follows ; tact follows 
where the humor leads. Talent is pleased that it ought to 
have succeeded ; tact is delighted that it has succeeded. 

8. Talent builds for eternity; tact" on a short lease, and 
gets good interest. In short', talent is certainly a very fine 
thing to talk' about, a very good thing to be proud' of, a 
very glorious eminence to look down' from ; but tact is use- 
ful, portable, applicable — always alert — marketable. It is 
talent of talent'; the availableness of resources' ; the appli- 
cation of power^; the eye of disorimination', and the right 
band of intellect'. 

n,<jr.=^-h, Google 



[Allui CiiHNiHaiiAii, a volnniiaaus writer In botb prose and poetry, and a ir 
ortiirled UleniB, wss trom In Bcollud In 1T84 ; died In IBl!; Some of bis slior 
poenu are parrecE geou. 

In thle Leeaon wa tiavo an example of anOthaalg between oppoaing tUbjecU, ei 
■epBTBtel/ preseDted at lenjctb, almllsr to that described In LesBOD UL] 

Qlvs ma Uia counti;— 

1. Child of the country' I free aa air 
Art thou, and as the euDBhine fmr; 

r:,,r.=^i by Google 


Bom like the lily, where the dew 
Lies odorong whea the day is new ; 
Fed 'mid the May-flowers like the bee; 
Narsed to sweet muaic on the knee ; 
Lnll'd in the breast to that sweet tune 
Which winds make 'mong the woods of June : 
I sing of thee ; — 'tis sweet to sing 
Of such a fair and gladsome thing*. 

2. Child of the town' I for thee I sigh ; 
A gilded roof's thy golden sky, 
A carpet is thy daisied sod, 
A narrow street thy boundless wood ; 
Thj mshing deer's the clattering tramp 
Of watchmen ; thy best light's a lamp, — 
Through smoke, and not through trellised vinea, 
And blooming trees, thy snnbeam shines: 
I sing, of thee in sadness; where 
Else is wreck wrought in anght so fair t 

8. Child of the country I on the lawn 
I see thee like*the bounding fawn, 
Blithe aa the bird which tries its wing 
The first time on the wings of Spring ; 
Now mnning, shouting, 'mid sunbeams. 
Now groping troute in lucid streams. 
Now spinning like a mill-wheel round, 
Now hunting Echo's empty sound, 
Now climbing up some old tall tree — 
For climbing's sake, — 'tis sweet to thee 
To sit where birds can ait alone, 
Or share with thee thy venturous throna 

4, Child of the town and bustling street, 
What woes and snares await thy feet! 
Thy paths are paved for five long miles, 
Thy groves and hills are peaks and tiles ; 
Thy fragrant air is yon thick smoke. 
Which shrouds thee like a mourning cloak; 

G2 - • , 


And thou art oabin'd and confined. 
At once ironi sun, and dew, and wind, 
Or set thy tottering feet but on 
Thy leogthen'd walks of slippery stone, 

5. Fly from the town, eweet child ! for health 
Ib happiaees, and strength, and wealth. 
There ia a lesson in each flower, 
A Btory in each stream and bower ; 
On every herb o'er which yon tread 
Are written words which, rightly read, 
Will lead you, from earth's fragrant Bod, 
To hope, and holiness, and Goo. 




[Alsiahsr Pofe, ft ceiebrated poeL. vat bom Id London, England, In 1C3S. 
ThoHgli bom detonnad, Bmall In size, and deUcale In conetltntlon, be was a lltersrj 
loftnt prodlgj- He wrote a play before he was twelve jeara old, and, to nsa bin own 
words, be "lispad Id nnmbers." Hla Keeaj on Crlticlsni, Eeaaj on Man, and hia 
translaUon or Ibe Iliad, are bla moet celebrated wetka. He died to 1144. 

Id tbe foUowlng leuon tbe larlone baabUt wblcb please man In the vsrlona ■lagcs 
nr 111% are flrat contraBtcd, antithetically.- then want and bope, foil; and Joj, onidU- 
liirenl ptoBpects, and,flnall;, mau'a toll; and Ood'awlBdom.] 

1. Behold the cA(W,by nature's kindly Uw 
Pleased with a rattle, tickled with a straw : 
Some livelier plaything gives his youth delight, 
A little loader, bat as empty" quite : 

Scai'fs, garters, gold, amuse his riper stage, 
And beads and prayer-books are the toys of age : 
Pleased with this bauble still, as that before, 
'Tiir tired" he sleeps, and life's poor play is o'er. 

2. Meanwhile", opinion gilds", with varying rays, 
Those painted clouds that beautify our days: 
Each want of happiness', by hope supplied^, 
And each vacuity of sense', by pride : 

lliese build as fast as knowledge can destroy : 
In- folly's cup still laughs the bubble joy. 



3. One prospect loBt',anoth^ still we gain^; 
And not a vanity ia given in vain: 
KveD mean self-love becomes', by force divine', 
The scale to measnre others' wante', by thine'. 
See I and confess, one comfort Btill must rise ; 
Tis this ; though man's a/ool, yet" Gcxf ia wise. 



Sakitkl Johmsos. 
The Btyle of Dryden is capricioas and varied ; that of 
Pope is cautions and nniform, Dryden obeys the motions 
of his own mind ; Pope conBtrains bis mind to his own rules 
of composition. Dryden is sometimes vehement and rapid ; 
Pope is always smooth, nniform, and gentle. Dryden's page 
is a natural field, rising into inequalities, and diversified by 
the varied exuberance of abundant vegetation ; Pope's is s 
velvet lawn, shaven by the scythe, and leveled by the roller. 
If the flights of Dryden are higher. Pope continues longer 
on the wing. If of Dryden's fire the blaze is brighter, of 
Pope's the beat is more regular and constant. Dryden oft- 
en surpasses expectation ; Pope never falls below it. Dry. 
den is read with frequent astonishment, and Pope with per- 
petual delight. 



[WiLLUH BuLiT*, h iiitiogaUbei cHtIc and mtacellsDeoos writer, waa bom in 
SogUndin ITTSi djed In 1930. Fromhla"E)oqiiniceoftbeBrttlitliSsiiaU,''aiTark 
in tiro Tolnmas, tbe (onowtni anlitlietlca] eilncC la Ukciu] 

1. Chatham and Burke were in every respect the reverse 
of each other. Chatham's eloquence was popular: bis wis- 
dom was altogether plain and practical. Burke's eloqnence 
was that of tbe poet ; of the man of high and unbounded 
fancy : his wisdom was profound and contemplative. 

2. Chatham's eloquence was calculated to make men acf^ 

K Google 


Bnrke's" calcalated to mate .them thinX'. Chatbam oonld 
have roused the fury of a multitude, and wielded tlieir pbyB- 
ical energy as he pleased : Burke's eloquence carried convic- 
tion into the mind of the retired and lonely student', open- 
ed the recesses of the human breast', and lighted up the fate 
of nature around him. 

3. Chatham supplied bis bearere with rtiotwea to immedi- 
ate action : Buvke fumiBhed them with reasons for action, 
which might have little effect upon them at the time, but 
for which they would be wiser and better alt their lives after. 

4. In reBearcb, in originality, in variety of knowledge, iu 
richness of invention, in depth and comprehension of mind, 
Burke had as much the advantage of Lord Chatham', as be 
was excelled by him in plain common sense, in strong feel- 
ing, in steadiness of purpose, in vehemence, in warmth, in 
enthusiasm and energy of mind. 

6. Burke was the man of genius*, of fine sense', and subtle 
reasoning' ; Chatham was a man of clear understanding', of 
strong sense', and violent passions. Burke's mind was satis- 
iied with speculation,' Chatham's was essentially active; it 
could not rest without an object. The power which gov- 
erned Burke*B mind was his Imagination ; that which gave 
its impetus to Chatham's was Will. The one was almost the 
creature of pure intellect', the other of physical temperament'. 


[JoecrR AncTBOV, * trne ChrlaUan tcholu, and one of tbe ftrlghlsst onuunenta of 
Bnglbb UterBtDTe, wu born In England (n Un. Ab an eBBiyiat he la nnrlTltled. 
Tbe^peMotor alone would have lnunortaliiedblaaune. He died iulTUI.I 

1. Thouqh a man has all other perfections, and wants dis- 
cretion, he will be of no great consequence in the world ; 
but, if he has this single talent in perfection, and but a com- 
mon share of others, he may do what he pleases in his par- 
ticular situation of life. At the same time that I think dis- 
cretion' the most useful talent a man can be master of, I 
look upon dinning to be the accompliabment of little, mean, 
nngeneronfi minda 

-K Google 


2. Discretion' points out the noblest ends to hb, and pur- 
Bnes the most proper and laudable methods of attaining 
them. Cunning' has only private, Belfish aims, and etiokB 
at nothing which may make them encceed. Discretion'' 
haa large and extended views*, and, like a well-formed eye', 
commands a whole horizon\ Cunning~^a a kind of ehort- 
sightedneBB^ which discovere the minntest objects which are 
near at hand', but is not able te discern things at a distance. 

3. DiBcretion', the more it is discovered, gives a greater 
authority to the person who poBseSBes it. Cunning, when 
it is once detected, loses its force, and makes a man incapa- 
ble of bringing about even those events which he might 
have done, had he paaaed only for a plain man. Discre- 
tion'' is the perfection of reason^ and a guide to ub in all 
the duties of life : cnnning~ is a kind of instinct that looks 
ont after our immediate intereBts and welfare, 

4. Discretion'" is only found in men of strong eeoBe and 
good underBtandings : cunning' is often to be met with in 
bmtes themselves, and in persona who are the fewest re- 
moves from them. In short', cnnning~ is only the mimic of 
discretion, and may pass upon weak men, in the same man- 
ner as vivacity is often mistaken for wit', and gravity for 
wisdom \ 



[WrLtuH CowPiB, one of the tnut Mid b«st orBugllib p<MU,mii bora InlTtl. 
Be ms, conatltiitloniillj, too timid ever lo appear <n pabllc Hie, and Ibr jeui he 
eofl^KdimdeTtliescaai^oFfnBuiUr. He died tD the jear ISOO; ■ 

The Infldcl and ChrlBUan are here described anCtUietlalT. In tbe third dlvlglaa 
ot Om piece, the Buljlheals la moet cleulj ■ppsrent.l 


1. Tes path to bliss abounds with many a snare : 
Learning is one, and wit, however rare, 
The Frenchman, first in literary fame 
(Mention him if you please. Yoltiure'? The same), 
With spirit, genius, eloquence supplied. 
Lived long', wrote mnch', langh'd heartily'", and died\ 



2. The Scripture was his jest-boot, whence he drew 
Jion-moW to gall the Christian and the Jew : 
An infidel in health ; but what when Btuk' ? 

Oh — then a text would touch him to the quick. 
View him at Paria, in his last career, — 
Surrounding tbl'Ongs the demigod Tevere ; 
Exalted on hie pedestal of pride, 
And filmed with frankincense on every Bide, 
He begs their flattery with his latest breath, — 
And smothered in't at last, is praised to death. 


3. Yon cottager, who weaves at her own door. 
Pillow and bobbins all her little store, 
Content', though mean', and cheerful', if not gay\ 
Shuffling her thread about the livelong day, 
Jnst earns a scanty pittance, and at night 

Lies down secure, her head and pocket light 

4. She, for her humble sphere hy nature fit, 
Has little nnderstanding, and no wit ; 
Receives no praise ; but though her lot be such 
(Toilsome and indigent), she renders much : 

Jnst knows, and knows no more, her Bible true, — 
A truth the brilliant Frenchman never knew ; 
And in that charter reads, with sparkling eyes, 
Her title to a treasure in the skies. 


5. Oh bappy peasant ! Oh unhappy bard' ! 
His" the mere tinsel', hers" the rich reward' ; 
He"", praised', perhaps', for ^es yet to come' ; 
She", never heard of half a mile from home' j 
He" lost in errors his vain heart prefers. 
She" safe in the simplicity of hers. 

CticiaiDS. The Bret (jllablei 

by Google 



[JnotiMft.— L mnetntloDS of ths Hlmlle, the metapbor, and tbe allegaij. Tho . 
cbuRctra of the allegory.— On what It la based. How It dllFeiB (torn the metaphar. 
A metapbor tlliutratlve ot the aUasoi7.-S. The use of BllegorleB. Riddles, fables, 
ud psniblea. Bnnyan'e PUgrim's ProgreBB.— 4. Allegory In art. Compared to a 
painting. A pictorial allegory explained. Allegorical embleme. Cole'e Voyage of 

1. If, in describing the people of Israel,! Bay,"lHrael is 
like &n empty vise," I make use of a aimiie, or formal com- 
parison : if I say, " Israel is an empty vine," I employ a met- 
aphor ; but if I say, " Behold an empty vine," and go on and 
describe the vine in such a manner as to make it plain that 
I mean Israel, although I do not mention the name, the com- 
parison, thus hidden, becomes an all^ory. Thus allegory 
is a continued (fusion to aomething that is not mentioned. 

2. Hence an allegory, like a metaphor, is based upon com- 
parison, and is the representation of one thing by another 
that is described in its stead. In the metaphor, the primary 
object which we wish to explain, or illustrate, is ever kept 
in view; in the allegory, the secondary object only is men- 
tioned, and we are left to discover the primary by our own 
ingenuity. The following metaphor very happily sets forth 
the beanty of the allegory, " Of all the flowers that em- 
bellish the regions of romance, there is no other that bears 
so rich and beautiful a blossom, that diffuses snch a copious 
and exquisite fragrance, or that so amply rewards the care 
and culture of the poet or the orator." 

3. Allegories were a favorite method of ^ving reproof, 
and imparting instruction, in ancient times ; and among 
them are still found some of the choicest gems of language. 
Riddles, the fables of j^sop and La Fontiune, and the parables 


of the New Testament, are allegories; and it is the moral, 
or hidden trnth of the fable or allegory, the instruction 
. 'lesigned in the parable, and the solution of the riddle, that 
contain the hidden meaning aimed at. Bunyan'a Pilgrim's 
Progress, in which a journey is described to illustrate the 
commencement, progress, and conclusion of the Christian 
life, is an allegory, continued through a volume, 

4. The principle of the allegory is introduced largely into 
Gome of the departments of Art^— 'in painting, in sculpture, 
and even in architecture, and wherever one object is made to 
symbolize another; and hence an allegory is in every re- 
speet similar to a hieroglyphical painting, excepting only 
that -words are used in the former instead of colors. An 
artist who should paint a picture in which the lion should 
he taken as the symbol of courage, the lamb as the symbol 
of meekness and patience, the eye~ of sight and knowledge, 
the anchor" of hope, the oUve branch~ of peace, etc., would 
be dealing in allegory. So war, peace, and commerce have 
their well known allegorical emblems ; and the career of a 
gambler, a dmnkard, a miser, a murderer, may he sketched 
by the pencil as well as by the pen. One of the most strik- 
ing and now well-known pictorial allegories is Cole's "Voy- 
age of Life," comprised in a series of four allegorical paint- 


In MatUunr PrtoT'a "Heni7fuidEiDiiUi,''Einina,lii tbelbllowtng 
uer, deecrtbea ber codbCuic; to 'Bbbtj. 

[An lutem^cMlTe AUsgor?.] 
Dm I but purpose to embai^ with thee 
On the smooth surface of a summer's sea', 
While gentle zephyrs play with prosperous gales', 
And fortune's favor fills the swelling sails' ; 
But would forsake the ship', and make the shore', 
When the winds whistle', and the tempests roar' ? 

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1. Thoa hast brought a viae out of Egypt; thou hast cast 
out the faeatheD, and planted it. 

Thou preparedst room before it, 
and didet cause it to take deep 
root, and it filled the land. The : 
hills were covered with the shad- , 
ow of it ; and the boughs thereof J 
were like the goodly cedars. She <| 
Bent out her boughs unto the sea, ' 
and her branches unto the river. 

2. Why hast thou then broken 
down her hedges, so that all they 

which pass by the way do pluck her'? The boar oat 
of the wood doth waste it, and the wild beast of the field 
doth devour it. Return, we beseech thee, God of hosts : 
look down from heaven, and behold, and visit this vine. — 
Psalm Ixzx,, S-14. 

in. wisdom's call. 
[Wlodom peraonlfled.] 
1. Wisdom hath builded her house'; she hath hewn out 
her seven pillars'. She hath 
killed her beasts'; she hath min- 
gled her wine' ; she hath also 
furnished her table'. 

2, She hath sent forth her 
maidens': -she crieth upon the 
highest places of the city", 
" Whoso is simple, let him tarn 
in hither." As for him that de- 
sireth understanding,' she saith 
to him", " Come"", eat of my 
bread, and drink of the wine which I have mingled. For- 
sake the foolish and live ; and go in the way of understand- 
ing." — I^overba ii., 1-6. 




lOod'e jadgmBDts upon luaeL A parable. At ths gIoH), the pamble ig explained,] 

1. ilj well-beloved hath a vloeyard in a very truitful hill. 
And he tenced it, and gathered ooC the stones thereof and 
planted it with the choicest vines, and built a tower in the 
midst of it, and also made a wine-prese therein : and he 
looked that it should bring forth grapes'; and it brooght 
forth wild grapeB. 

2. And now, O inhabitants of Jemsalera, and men of Jn- 
dab,judge,Ipray yoa,betwixt me and my vineyard. What 
could have been done more to my vineyard, that I have not 
done' 7 Wherefore', when I looked that it should biing 
forth grapes', bronght it forth wil^ grapes' ? 

8. And now' go to'; I will tell yon what I will do to my 
vineyard : I will take away the hedge thereof, and it shall 
be eaten np'; and break down the wall thei'eof',andit shall 
be trodden down\ And I will lay it waste' ; it shall not 
be pruned', nor digged', but there shall come up briers and 
thorns' : I will also command the clouds that they rain no 
rain upon it. For the vineyai-d of the Lord of hosts is the 
house of Israel, an'd the men of Judah his pleasant plant. — 
Isaiah v., 1. 


[Qoeen HVKarel'a aMteta to tbe Lords and Baldiers.) 

1, Great lords', wise men ne'ei- sit and wail their loss. 
But cheerly seek how to redi-ess their harms. 
What though the mast be now blown overboard', 
The cable broke', the holding-anchor lost'. 

And half our sailors* swallowed in the flood'? 

Yet lives our pilot still. Is't meet that he 

Should leave the helm', and, like a fearful lad'. 

With tearful eyes add water to the sea'. 

And give more strength to that which has too much' ; 

Whiles, in his moan, the ship splits on the rock. 

Which indastry and course might have saved'' ? 

2. Ah, what a shame'"* ! ah, what a fault were thiB"'" 1 
Say, Warwick was our anchor ; what of that" ? 

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And Mont^ue our top-mast ; what of htm"? 

Our slangfatered fiiends the tackles; what of thSse''? 

Why', ia not Oxford here another anchor'' ? 

And Somerset another goodly mast" ? 

'ITie friends of France our shrouds and taoklings'* ? 

And, though nnskilliul, why not Ned and I 

For once allowed the sMllful pilot's charge'^? 

Sing Mettry VI., Act V,, Scene *. 


[Id the second Tens Civil LIlMrt; la dCBCribed under Uie flgora of ■ halMlDliheil 
banding. Tbe otdecC Is to lAaw tbM CiTil Uben; Ib not to be Judged o[ from Uie 
ODtngee snd rlolent seta vrhieb Uteud rerolntloaB.] 

1. The final and permanent fruits of liberty are wisdom', 
moderation', and mercy\ Its immediate effects are often 
atrocions crimes', confiioting errors', skepticism on points 
the most clear', dogmatism on points the most mysterious'. 

2. It ia just at this crisis that its enemies love to exhibit 
it. They pull down the scaffolding from the half-finished 
edifice'; they pointf to the flying dust', the falling bricks', 
the comfortless rooms', the frightful irregularity' of the 
whole appearance', and then ask~ in scorn', where tho 
promised splendor and comfort are to be found'. — Ma- 



A deeorlptlTe Allegorr.— Bclhis. 

[Bui-vn liTreii, ■ celebrated BagUsb norellBt and polLticInri, was bom in ISOS. 
Id ism, bsvlng sncceeded to tbe estates otblB mother, be eTchaoged his ettrname 
orBulwer for that or Lytcon, which he now bean. 

'rheTollej orAtdeiiD.dsicrltEed In tb)e allEgorj, la bat a picture of that dreamland 
ofTOnth— a paradlee of bapplnese wllbont allof— which ao many in fancy have vU- 
lled, onlj to H>vtiken from Its fond llluilona lo And IhemaelTes once more oQ the 
real eolld eartb, witb Illb dntlea and IttB labors atlU awaiting them. 

The picture of Love, exalted Into a goddeaa.and anrronnded by nnmerons attend- 
ant deities wbo minleter lo every eenaufll deHght, le here happily drawn ; bnt Tlmu 
Hoon beglDS to reieal wrinkles npon the brow of beauty, darkaeaa falls upon dream- 
land, snd tbe poetry of life 1> gone forever.l 

1. At length the traveler emerged from a mighty forest, 
through which, for several days, he had threaded his weary 

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■w&y ; and beantiinl, beyond thought, was the landscape that 
broke npon his view. A plain covered with the richest vei^ 
dure lay before him : through the trees that here and there 
darkened the emerald ground were cut alleys, which were 
overarched with festoons of many-colored flowers, whose 
hoes sparkled amid the glossy foliage, and whose sweets 
steeped the air as &om gardens of roses. A stream, clear 
as crystal, flowed over golden sands; and, wherever the 
Bward was greenest, gathered itself into delicious fountains, 
and sent upward dazzling spray, as if to catch the embraces 
of the sun, whose beams kissed it in delight. 

%, The wanderer paused in ecstasy; a sense of luxurious 
rapture, which he had never before experienced, crept into 
his souL " Behold 1" murmured he, **my task is already 
done ; and Aidenn, the land of happiness and of youth, lies 
before me !" 

While he thus spake, a sweet voice answered, " Yes, oh 
happy stranger 1 thy task is done: this is the land of hap- 
piness and of youth !" 

3. He turned, and a maiden of dazzling beauty was by his 
side. "Enjoy the present," s^d she, "and so wilt thou defy 
the liiture. Ere yet the world was, Love brooded over the 
Tinfonned shell, till firom beneath the shadow of his wings 
burst forth the life of the young creation. Love, then, is 
the true God ; and whoso serveth him, he admits into the 
mysteries of a temple erected before the stai-s. Behold I 
thou enterest now upon the threshold of the temple, in 
which youth, and beauty, and joy dwell forever." 

4, Enchanted with these words, Arasmanes gave himself 
upto the sweet intoxication they produced upon his soul. 
He suffered the nymph to lead him deeper into the valley : 
and now, from a thousand vistas in the wood, trooped forth 
beings, some of fantastic, some of the most harmonious 
shapes. There were the B^tyr" and the fann', and the 
yoQthlul Bacchns", mlDgliug with the multiform deities of 
India, and the wild objects of Egyptian worship ; but more 
numerous than all were the choral nymphs', that spiritual- 
ized the reality by incoiporating the dreams of beauty ; and 
wherever he looked, one laughing &ce seemed to pew forth 


fh>m the glossy leaves, and to shed, aB from its own joyoDB 
yet tender aspect, a tenderness and a joy over all things; 
and he asked what this being, that seemed to have the pow- 
er of multiplying itself every where, was called ? And its 
name was E'ros'. 

5. For a time, the length of which he knew not — for in 
that land no measurement of time was kept — Arasmanes 
was fully persuaded that it was Aidenn to which he had 
attained. He felt his youth as if it were something palpa- 
ble; every thing was new to him — even in the shape of the 
leaves, and in the whisper of the odorous urs, he fonnd 
wherewithal to marvel at and admire. Enamored of the 
maiden that had first addressed bim, at her slightest wish 
(and she was full of beautiful caprices) he was ready to ex- 
plore even the obscurest recess in the valley, which now ap- 
peared to him unbounded. He never wearied of a single 
hour. He felt as if weariness were impossible ; and, with 
every instant, he repeated to himself, "la the land of happi- 
ness and youth I am a dweller." 

6. One day, as he was conversing with his beloved, and 
gazing upon her face, ho was amazed to behold that, since 
the last time he had gazed upon it, a wrinkle had planted 
itself upon the ivory surface of her brow ; and, even while 
half doubting the evidence of his eyes, new wrinkles seemed 
slowly to form over the forehead, and the transparent roses 
of her cheek to wane and fade ! He concealed, as well as ho 
could, the mortifioatioQ and wonder that he experienced st 
this strange phenomenon; and no longer daring to gaze 
upon a face from which before he bad dmnk delight as 
from a fountain, he sought excuses to separate himself from 
her, and wandered, confnsed and bewildered with his own 
thoughts, into the wood. The fauns, and the dryads', and 
the youthful face of Bacchus, and the laughing aspect of 
E'ros, came athwart him from time to time ; yet the wonder 
that had clothed them with fascination was dnlled within 
his breast. Nay, he thonght the poor wine-god had a cer- 
tain vulgarity in his (ur, and he almost yawned audibly in 
the face of Eros. 

7. And now, whenever he met his favorite nymph — who 

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was as the queen of the valley — ^he had the chagrin to per- 
ceive that the wrinkles deepened with every time; yonth 
seemed rapidly to desert her; and, instead of a m^den 
scarcely escaped from childhood, it was an old coquette 
that he had been so desperately in love with. 

8. One day he could not resist saying to her, though witli 
some embarrassment, 

" Pray, dearest, is it many years that you have iohabited 
' this valley ?" 

" Oh, indeed many !" said she, smiling. 

" Tou are not, then, very young," rejoined ArasmSnes, un- 

" What !" cried the nymph, chan^g color, " do yon be- 
gin to discover ^e in my countenance? Has any wrinkle 
yet appeared upon my brow? Yon are silent. Oh, crnel 
Fate ! will you not spare even this lover ?" And the poor 
nymph burst Into tears. 

9. " My dear love," said ArasmUnes, painfully, " it is true 
that time begins to creep upon you ; but my friendship shall 
be eternal." 

Scarcely had he uttered these words, when the nymph, 
rising, fixed upon him a long, sorrowful look, and then with 
a loud cry vanished from his sight. Thick darkness, as a 
veil, fell over the plains; the novelty of life, with its attend- 
ant poetry, was gone from the wanderer's path forever. 

10. A sudden sleep crept over his sensea He awoke, con- 
fused and unrelreshed; and a long and gradual ascent, bat 
over mountains green indeed, and watered by many streams 
gushing from the heights, stretched before him. Of the val- 
ley he had mistaken for Aidenn, not a vestige remained. He 
was once more on the real solid earth. 

' Ifdenn is ui Aogllcized uid dlegnieed Bpening of tbe Arabic farm otthe word 
Bimi—aeei KimctimeB u ■ sjuoDym fOr tbe etUUitd paradise. Bee thla latter *!■ 
iDBlun Id Poal" Raven :-— 

' Sd'tgr, ■ Bjlvan dellj. part man and pnrl goat, characteriied by riotouB merrl- 

''Y\iBfa\ma were dandng gods of Ibe Oelda, uid abspherda, differing bnt liUie 
trom the Htjn. 
< Bti^-claa. the Rod ol wine. 
• Choral ngmfb*. sioglDg orinphB. Tlie nynpht viwt beantirol remale tonns— 




Narratlre form. A Parable.— Lul« it. 

[A /"BToWe is an allegoricU relatioD of ■omethmg which WfceB place iimotiB ™an- 
kiud, UDd from which an InslmctiTe morai U designed to be drawu. The parable 
requlrea both poBBlbllltj andproAolnlitif In the aarratltiD. 

Ilie following parable, which beaatiraliy embodin the principle of paUmal aS^c- 
tioD, IseTldeatlf.deBlgaedaa a farther iUOBtrslioii of tbe troth already twice pre- 
(iouslr dated ia the eame chapter— that tbereitjo; In heayen over one Bluoertbat 

1. AcBBTAmmanbadtwo sona; and the yoaoger of them 
said to his &ther, " Father, give me the portion of goods 
that lalleth to tne." And he^divided unto them his living. 
And, not many days after, the younger son gathered all to- 
gether, and took his journey into a far country, and there 
wasted his substance with riotous living. 

2. And, when he had spent all, there arose a mighty famine 
in that land ; and he began to be in want. And he went 
and joined himself to a citizen of that country, who sent him 
into his fields to feed swine. And he would lain have filled 
himself with the huska that the swine did eat; but no man 
gave unto him. 

3. And when he came to himself, he said, "How many 
hired servants of my father have bread enough, and to spare, 
and I perish with hunger ! I will arise and go to my father, 
and will say unto him. Father, I have sinned against heav- 
en, and before thee, and am no more worthy to be called 
thy son : make me as on0 of thy hired servants." 

4. And he arose, and came to his father. Bnt when he 
was yet a great way off, his father saw him, and had com- 
passion, and ran, and fell on his neck, and kissed him. And 
the son said unto him, "Father, I have sinned against heav- 
en, and in thy sight, and am no more worthy to he called 
tliy son." 

5. But the &ther s^d to his servants, " Bring forth the 

froddeuca— who, aa Ibe eart; Greeks loiaglDed, peopled ttie mouotalna, meadows, 
foreate, walera, etc 

' J'rAa, In anctent my Ibology, ts tbe Greeb name uf the deity of Lore ; tbe ume 

* Dry'ad, * nymph of the woods. 

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lee uimTBD states sebies. sixth beadeb. 

liest robe, and.pnt it on him; and pot a ring on faia hand, 
and Bhoes on his feet; and bring hither the tatted calf, and 
kill it ; and let as eat, and he merry : for thl^, my eon, was 
dead, and is alive again ; he was lost, and is found." 

6. Now hia elder eon waa in the field : and as bo came 
and drew nigh to the house, he heard mimic and dancing. 
And he called one of the servants, and asked vhat these 
things meant. Andhesaiduntobim, "Thy brother is come; 
and thy father hath killed the iatted calf, beoaose he hath 
received him safe and sound." 

y. And he was angry, and would not go in ; therefore came 
his father out and entreated him. And he, answering, said 
to his &tber, " Lo, these many years have I served thee, nei- 
ther transgressed I, at any time, thy commandment ; and yet 
thon never gavcst me a kid, that I might make merry with 
my friends : hut as soon as this thy son was come, who hath 
devoured thy living with harlots, thon hast killed for him 
the fatted calf." 

S. And the father said tinto him, " Son, thou art ever with 
me; and all that I have is thine. It was meet that we 
should make merry, and be glad; for this thy brother was 
dead, and is alive again ; an J was h)st, and is fonnd." 



A NuntlTe. Tht oldest RMt "kaowa.—Jtidga Ix. 

(TbB FaMt, or Apologtitiie an Kllesory fbnnded apon impposed acttoiit arbnUg or 
iDBnlmnta tblB^ ond therefore 1b not llm!l«d, like the parable, by the role* of prob- 
abllitr- In common wltb all allegories, tbe (^ble la Intended to enforce aome nsefal 
tnitb or precept. Tbe fables of iElaop, wblcb are conAaed moeUT to tbe dolngiand 
rajdngs of animals, ate good examples of apologue. 

Tbe fiible bere glren, the oldest on record, and which Addtson declares to be as 
beanllfal a> any made aince. originated la the following manner. Ablm'e leib, by 
eoiuplracT with the people ofSbe'ebem. and bj the mnrder ofallhla brethren except 
JC'thsm the yonngeat, who hid blmtelf, la made mler oyer tbe people of Israel, nbo 
bad long wickedly desired a king, Instead of the Lard,tomle over them. Jotbam. 
by the (bllowlng fhble, rebaksa tbe She'ebem ites. and foreUUs their mln. Bre long 
the people of ShS'ehem were all destroyed, as Jotham had foretold, and Ablm'e leib 
himself was slain ; so that tbe eotse of Jotham fell upon ail who were engsfed la 
Ibe conspiracy.) 

1. And all the men of Sfaechem gathered together, and all 
the house of Mlllo, and went, and made Abimeleoh king, by • 

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the plma of the pillar that was in Sheohem. And Then they 
told it to Jotham,fae went and stood on the top of Monnt 
Ger'i zim, and lifted np hia voice, and cried, and said nnto 
them, Hearken unto me, ye men of Sbecbem, that God may 
hearken unto you. 

2. The trees went forth on a time to anoint a king over 
them ; and they said unto the olive-tree, Reign thoa over us. 
But the olive-tree said unto them. Should I leave my fatness, 
wherewith by me they honor Grod and man, and go to be 
promoted over the trees ? 

3. And the trees said to the fig-tree, Come thon and reign 
over ns. But the fig-tree said nnto them, Shoald I foi-sake 
my sweetness, and my good fruit, and go to he promoted 
over the trees? 

4. Then s^d the trees unto the vine, Come thou and reign 
over us. And the vine said unto them, Should I leave my 
wine, which cheereth Gk>d and man, and go to be promoted 
over the trees ? 

5. Then said all the trees nnto the bramble, Come thoa 
and reign over ns. And the bramble said unto the trees. 
If in truth ye anoint me king over you, then come and put 
your trust in my shadow; and if not, let fire come out of 
the bramble, and devour the cedars of Lebanon. 

8. Now, therefore, if ye have done tmly and sincerely, in 
that ye have made Abimelech king, and if ye have dealt 
well with Je riib'ba al and his house, and have done unto 
him according to the deserving of his hands (for my father 
fought for you, and adventured his life far, and delivered 
yon out of the hand of Midian; and ye are risen up against 
my father^s house this day, and have slain his sons, three- 
score and ten persons, upon one stone, and have made Abim- 
elech, the son of his maid-servant, king over the men of Sbe- 
cbem, because he is your brother) ; if ye then have dealt 
truly and sincerely with Je rQb'ba al aud with his bouse 
this day, then rejoice ye in Abimelech, and let him also re- 
joice in you; but if not, let fire come out from Abimelech, 
and devour the men of Shcchem, and the bouse of Millo; 
and let fire come out from the men of Shechem, mid from the 
house of Millo, and devour Abimelech. 

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7. And Jotham ran avsy, and fied, and went to Beer, and 
dwelt there, for fear of Abimelech his brother. 

A Peniao Fable. 
. " How old art thou ?" said the garrulous gourd, 
As o'er the palm-tree's crest it poured 
Its spreading leaves and tendrils fine, 
And hung a bloom in the morning shine. 
" A hundred years !" the palm-tree sighed : 
" And I" the saucy gourd replied, 
"Am at the most a hundred hours, 
Andflvertop thee in the bowers!" 

I, Through all the palm-tree's leaves there went 
A tremor as of self-content. 
" I live my life," it, whispering, said, 
" See what I see, and count the dead ; 
And every year, of all Fve known, 
A gonrd above my head has grown. 
And made a boast, like thine to-day ; 
Yet here Zstand — but where are tlieyf" 



A Fable. 

1. As I happened one day to enter an old shed, in which 
some worn-out Locomotives had been stowed away,I chanced 
to overhear the following : 

2. " Gentlemen," said an old Tea^kSttle that lay in a cor- 
ner of the shed — " Gentlemen, I am sorry to see you in this 
place : I wasn't brought here till I had more than once lost 
my spout and handle, and been patched and soldered till 
very little of my original was left. I conclnde, therefore, 



that, like me, you have seen yoor best days, and are now to 
be laid aside as useless." 

The Locomotives looked at one another, and frowned, bnt 
didn't answer, 

3. " Well, gentlemen and brothers," cried the ESttle again, 
" don't be down-hearted. We have played busy and useful 
parts in our day, and may comfort ourselves now in thinking 
over the things we have respectively achieved. As for me, 
the remembrance of the domestic delight and refreshment 
that I have been the means of affording affects me deeply." 

4. "What is that little old tin whistling about, up in the 
comer'?" asked one of the Locomotives of his companion. 
" ^Wiere are his brothers'?" 

5. " Hey-day' I is that it' ?" cried the Kettle, all alive with 
indignation. " So you don't own the relationship* 1 Let me 
tell you, with all your pitiful pride, that, though you won't 
own me as a brother, I am father and mother to you ; for 
who would ever have heard of a steam-engine, if it hadn't 
been for a tea-kettle' ?" 

6. The Locomotives were abashed, and silent ; and while I 
was drawing a moral from the just reproof which the Kettle 
had administered to their pride and arrogance, my ear caught 
up the following, which was sung by one of the workmen in 
au adjoining building : 


?. They may talk as they will about singing, 

Their harps, and their lutes, and what not; 
Their fiddles are not worth the stringing, 

Compared with the music I've got; 
For with lessons far deeper and higher 

The song of the kettle may teem: 
'Twas the kettle that sung on the fire, 

That first proved the power-of steam. 

8. With home-&ceB smiling around me. 
And children and wife at the board, 
No music such joy ever found me 
As that its sweet song doth afford : 

■ ii,Gi:H)(^Ie 


I love every inch of its metal. 
From the tip of the spout to the knob : 

" Lead a temperate life," Bings the kettle, — 
The kettle that Binga on the hob^ 

• It Is Slid tbat tbe Ideaof uliig Btaiim for meclianical parpont waaflret 
Bd b; uollcltig tbe force wltbwblch'lt iMneg fhim tbe spout of b tei-ketUe. 

■■ Hob, tbe dKl put ot a grate In Englaad, nbera ihbige aie placed la be k 
It Is nbero the les-kettle geDsnll; does Its tfttging. 


A Fable.— C«toun Hmtrt. t 

[The fbllowlng Tei? fine example ot a table wltb an InatmctiTe moral, will be 
Iband a Ane readiug exercise, If the monotoDotifl bftrlCy of tbe dialogue ia properl/ 
rellflTed bj giving fnn eipreaelon to the eAoroctor of the tpeaken. The gentle tODS 
ol the meeic and modeit dalsf Is ts happy contrast with the arrogant and qnarrel- 
aoms miDDer of the llanDtIng popp7^ and then the chuigt, In the lone of the latter, 
toward tbe close, glT« additional faria^ to the reading, wblcb should be a cloaa 
ImitatloD of nolura tbroogbonL] 

"How in the world came you there*?" said a flaring 
scarlet Poppy to a cheery, crimp little Daisy that grew at 
bis feet. 

" That is more than I can tell," said the Daisy. 

"Don't you feel ashamed of being so near me'?" said the 

" Not' at air," said the Daisy'. 

" Don't yon see how tall I am' ?" said the Poppy'. 

" Veiy' tall," said the Daisy. 

" And handsome' ?" said the Poppy*. 

" Yea",'' said the Daisy. 

"Don't you feel afraid of me'?" said the Poppy'. 

" Not' a bit"' said the Daisy. 

" How very short you are' I" siud the Poppy, 

" Very," said the Daisy. 

" And insignificant," said the Poppy. 

"Yes," said the Daisy. 

"And ngly," said the Poppy. 

" I deny that" said the Daisy. 

" No one would look twice at you," said the Poppy. 

"Perhaps not," said the Daisy. 

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"The people pasa through the field and don't see yon," 
said the Poppy, 

" Do they ?" said the Daisy. 

"They can't help seeing nieP' said the Poppy. 

" No, Pm sare they can't," said the Daisy. 

"And they admire meP' said the Poppy. 

" Do they 7" said the Daisy. 

"Yon knoio they do," said the Poppy, growing redder 
with passion. 

"Pm Bare I don't," said the Daiay, 

"Ton're as envione as you can he," said the Poppy. 

" Quite a mistake," eaid the Daisy. 

"Ob, you would give the whole field to be in my place," 
said the Poppy. 

"I wouldn't," said the Daisy. 

" Who would spend a thought on you ^' said the Poppy, 

"Robert Bums," aaid the Daisy. 

"I wish the reapers would come to cut the com." 

" So do I," said the Daisy. 

" Why do j/OM want them ?" sud the Poppy, 

" Simply because you do," eaid the Daisy. 

" Very fine ! it's your conceit ; you think they will look 
at you," said the Poppy. 

" No I don't indeed," said the Daisy. 

"They won't trouble themselves about you," said the 

" I hope not," said the Daisy. 

"I shall turn my back on yon," said the Poppy. 

"Do," said the Daisy. 

"Are you not very sorry?" said the Poppy. 

" Not at all," said the Daisy. 

"I despise you," eaid the Poppy. 

" Do you ?" said the DMsy. 

"It makes me ill to look at you," said the-Poppy. 

" How wise of yon to tnm round, then !" said the Daisy. 

" You couldn't tnm your back on me," said the Poppy. 

" No, Pm such a stiff little thing," said the Daisy. 

" What made you turn round again' ?" said the Daisy. 


*' Oh, dear' I" said the Poppy. 

"What's the matter' ?" said the Daisy. 

"The reapers are coming," said the Poppy, 

" Don't yon want them' T' said the Daisy'. 

"Oh, I'm afraid they'll cnt me down," said the Poppy; 
"they've just cut down a whole company of ua" 

" Ah ! yoa're so tall," said the Daisy. 

" Alas ! alas !" sighed the Poppy. 

"And BO handsome," said the Daisy. 

" Ah !" said the Poppy. 

"They'll be sure to see you," said the Daisy. 

" Oh, don't 1" groaned the Poppy ; " I wish I were short, 
like you." 

" I am very short," said the Daisy. 

"They won't see yon," said the Poppy. 

" No, nobody looks at me," said the Daisy. 

" Good-by, Daisy, they are close ; I shall soon be cut 
down," said the Poppy. 

" Good-by," said the Daisy. 

" I've been very rude to you ; will yon forgive me?" said 
the Poppy. 

" Oh, don't mention it," said the Daisy, 

" Are yon sorry for me V said the Poppy. 

"Tea, with all my heart," said the Daisy. 

"You're a dear, kind little thing," said the Poppy. 

"Thank yon kindly," said the Daisy. 

" You never made much of yourself," said the Poppy. 

"I never had the chance," said the Daisy. 

Poor Poppy 1 he never spoke more. The scythe reached 
him just as the Daisy was closing for the night ; and when 
she opened in the bright, fresh morning, he lay prostrate 
beside her. While she was thinking over his fate, a heavy 
heel pressed on her and drove her almost into the earth, 
and she thought she should never get np again. But she 
did, and soon looked as cheery as ever, and was more con- 
vinced than ever that it was better to grow low' than high\ 
and to be plain' than to be gaudy' ; and felt that she woald 
rather be a poor little Daisy', than the handsomest Poppy 
that ever graced the fields'. 


An AHegorlca] Kctnre of tbe Hnman Bace, Duder th« (bnn of a Fable. 

1. Akistotik says that upon the River Hy pa'nis, in Asia, 
there exist little insects who live only an hour, and thai 
many generations of them pass away in a day. 

2. Suppose one of these Hypanians, as old, according to 
these nations, as Time itseli^ to have been still living at the 
close of one of our Banuner days. He had' begun to exist 
with the morning sun, and, through the strength of hia con- • 
stitution, had been enabled to support an active life during 
the infinite number of seconds contained in ten or twelve 

3. During so long a succession of instants, by his own ex- 
perience, and by hia reflections on all he had seen, he has 
acquired great wisdom, and he can relate to his grandsons 
an astonishing tradition of facts anterior to all the memories 
of the nation. 

4. The young swarm, composed of beings who have lived 
but portions of an hour, approach the venerable patriareh 
with respect, and listen with admiration to his instructive 
discourse. Every thing he relates to them apjwara a prodigy 
to this generation, whose life has been eo short ; for the dawn 
ofday,ofwhich they have some vague traditions, is, in their 
chronology, the great era of the oration of their race. 

5. This*venerable insect, the Nestor of the Hypanis, a short 
time before his death, about the hour of sunset, assembles all 
his descendants, his friends, and acquaintances, to give them, 
with his dying breath, his last advice. They gather from all 
parts under the vast shelter of a mushroom, and the dying 
sage addresses them in the following manner: 

6. "Friends an^ compatriots, I feel that the longest life 
must have an end. The term of mine has arrived, and I do 
not regret my fate, since my great age has become a bnrden 
to me, and there is nothing new under the sun for me. The 
revolutions and calamities that have desolated my conntry, 
the great number of particular accidents to which we are 


all enbject, the infirmltieB that afflict our specieB, and the 
misfortunes that have happened iu my own family, — all that 
I have seen in the course of a long life, has only too well 
taught me this great truth, that happiness placed in things 
that do not depend upon onrselves can never be certain aud 
lasting. An entire generation has perished by a violent 
wind; a multitude of our imprudent youth have been swept 
into the water by a brisk and unexpected breeze. What 
terrible floods a sadden rain has caused! Our firmest shel- 
ters even are not proof against a hail-atorm. A dark cloud 
causes even the most courageous hearts to tremble. 

7. "I lived in the early ages, and conversed with insects 
of lai^er growth, of stronger constitutions, and, I may say, 
of greater wisdom, than any of the present generation. I 
conjure you to give credit to my last words, when I assure 
yoQ that the Bun which now appears beyond the water, and 
which seems not far from the earth, I have seen in times past 
fixed in the middle of the heavens, its rays darting directly 
upon us. The earth was much brighter in past ages; the 
air was much warmer; and our ancestors were more sober 
and more virtuons. 

8. "Although my senses are enfeebled, my memory is not ; 
I can assure you that this glorious luminary moves. I have 
seen it rising over the summit of yonder mountain, and I 
began my life about the time that it commenced its immense 
career. It has, during ^several centuries, advanced in the 
heavens with an astonishing heat and brilliancy, of which 
yon can have no idea, and which assuredly you could not 
have supported ; but now, by its decline, and the sensible 
diminution of its vigor, I perceive that all nature must 
shortly terminate, and that this world will be buried in 
darlcneas in less than a hundred minutes. 

9. " Alas'^ 1 my friends, how I flattered myself at one time 
with the deceitful hope of always living on this earthM How 

' magnificent were the cells I had hollowed out for myself I 
What confidence did I put in the firmness of my limbs, and 
in the elasticity of their joints; and in the strength of my 
wings' I But I have lived long enough for nature and for 
glory, and none of those I leave behind me will have the 

same satisfaction in the century of darkness and decay that 
I see about to begin." 


10. And now, what moral are we to gather from this pio- 
tui-e, which Fancy has drawn ? We may look with pity, 
not mtmingled with contempt, upon these insects of an 
hour; but ma^ not oitr lives appear as transient, our boast- 
ed wisdom just as vain, and haman glory quite as fleeting, 
to beings from some other sphere, whose lives are perhaps 
measured by thousands of years, and whose experience be- 
gan long before the period which we assign as creation's 



tntX kiDd al tdlegor; wblcb token the farm of an obacnre qneeciini, or Matement, 
tbat Ib M be conjectured oc gneoed, le commoalj called an £11^71110, or Riddle. 
Among the sncleutB It wits customary, at lian^ets or festivals, to ptopoee enlgmaa, 
of wbleti tbe oldest example known u the riddle propoBsd b; Samson at bla wed- 
ding Ibaab] 


1. Fbom rosy lips we issue forth, 

From east to west, from north to Bonth, 
Unseen, unfelt, by night, by day, 
Abroad we take our airy way. 
We iaaten love, we kindle strife". 
The bitter and the Bweet of life. 
Kercing and sharp, we wound like steel. 
Now smooth as oil, those wounds we heaL 

2. Not strings of pearl are valued more, 
Nor gems enchased in golden ore ; 
Tet thousands of ub, every day. 
Worthless and vile, are thrown away. 
Ye wise I secure with gates of brass 

The double doors through which we paro ; 
For, once escaped, back to our oell 
Nor art of mMi can as compel. 



1. In the middle of day I always appear, 

Tet am ever in darkness, in sadness, and fear. 
Fm in anguish and pain, yet alwaye in health, 
In the midst, too, of happiness, pleasure, and wealth. 
I was formed since the flood, yet am part of the ark, 
And seen in a cradle, a lamp, and a spark ; 
Though ne'er out of England, I'm always in France, 
Stay in Paris and Amiens, Bordeaux and Nantes. 

2. Tm found in the foam and the waves of the ocean, 
In steam-boats and cars, yet am never in motion. 
I'm always in land, yet ne'er out of water. 

And without me you can't name a son or a daughter. 
In short, I'm in all things ; there's no lake, or sea. 
Or island, or cape, but contains little me. 


a tbB EnglUih BUtegmOD Canning, 

1. There is a noun of plural number. 
Foe to sleep and quiet slumber; 
Kow, any other nonn you take, 
By adding s you plural make : 
But if an s you add to this, 
Strange is the metamorphods — 
Plural is plural now no more. 
And sweet" what bitter was before. 

Anmoer to the abom. 

2. Cares is a noun of plural number, 
Foe to sleep and quiet slumber; 
Now, any other name you take, 
By adding s you plural make : 
But if to this you add an a, 

"lis cares no more, but now caress: 
Plural is plural now no more. 
And sweet what bitter was before. 




1. TwAS whispered in heaven, 'twas muttered io hell, 
And Echo caught eoflly the sound as it fell ; 
In the confines of earth 'twas permitted to rest, 
And the depths of the ocean its presence confessed. 

3. It was seen in the lightning, and heard in the thunder; 
Twill be found in the spheres when all riven asunder ; 
It was given to man with his earliest breath, 

It assists at his birth, and attends him in death ; 
Presides o'er his happiness, honor, and health; 
Is the prop of his honse, and the end of his wealth ; 
It begins every hope, every wish it must bound ; 
And though unassuming, with monarchs is crowned. 

8. In the heaps of the miser *tis hoarded with care, 
But is sure to be lost in the prodigal heir*. 
Without it the soldier and sailor may roam, 
But woe to the wretch that expels it from homef*. 

4. In the whispers of conscience" its voice will be found, 
Nor e'er in the whirlwind of passion" be drowned; 

It softens the heart, and though dSaf to the ear, 
It will make it acutely and instantly hear. 
Bat in shades let it rest, lite an elegant flower; 
Oh t breathe on it softly, — it dies in an hour* ! 

* Bdb drope tba & Id pmnnu elation. 

* Boms of tbe BrLgtith drop tbe A in proniuidntlon, wherever It begliu ftWOI^ 
•' ThoBonnd of Alaheerd In eomrrfenM andpawfen. 

'Theaonndof & U not beard In lour. 

It is said thnt the Sphinx, a ravagiog monster, haviDg come to Thebes. 

propoundedthe following riddle lo the people: "What animal is that which 
walks npon four feet in the morning;, two at noon, and upon three M even- 
ing?" The throne haring been promised to whoeTor would solve the rid- 
dle, CEdipne came forward and answered the Sphinx that it was man, who, 
when an infant, creeps on all fbnra ; in manhood walks erect ; and in old 
age usei a staff. Thaieapon the Sphinx threw herself npon the earth, and 

r:,,r.=^i by Google 




[The Cha rld^ to colled bota the nitnie of the tnveotor, Ib a epecles uf riddle, the 


W.M. Pbud. 
WtHTUKO? Haokvobth FaAKP (PrMe), an Bnsllnh poet, bom In ISOB ; died la lS39i 

1. CouB from my First, ay, come' ! 

The battle dawa is nigh' ; 
And the screaming trump and the thond'ting dram 

Are calling thee to die' ! 
Fight as thy father fought; 

Fall as thy father fell ; 
Thy task is taught, thy abroad is wronght; 

So — forward" I and farewell'] 

n. BELL, 

. 2. Toll ye, my Sbcond I toll ! 

Fling high the flambean's light ; 
And sing the hymn for a parted soul 

Beneath the silent night I 
The wreath npon his head, 

The cross upon his breast, 
Let the prayer be said, and the tear be shed: 

So — take him to his rest I 


3. Call ye my Whole, ay, call I 

The lord of lute and lay ; 
And let him greet the sable pall 

With a noble song to-day ; 
Cro, call him by his name; 

No fitter hand may crave 
To light the fiame of a soldier's fame 

Ocj the turf of ^ soldier's grave. 

■ ii,Gi:H)(^Ie 



lA>iaIvtlt.~'LVh*,tit hyper'bolet Examplei.— 1. It !■ * flgore ftmnded In naton. 
How thLe \a ■hown. Who are prone M Uils Uad of euggendon.— S. What Uie 
abiudance of hyperbole BhowB. Cbaracterof alt grekt works of the ImagiiutlaD.— 
4, The language of Che PaahnlBt. Of 8t. John. How we Interpret sncb puugea. 
The examplea In the Ibllawlag Leason.] 

1. Ht fbb'bo lk, or exaggeration, is a figure which repre- 
sents a tiling as far greater, or far less, — better, or worse, 
than it Ib in reality ; as when we oail a tall person a giant, 
or steeple ; or eajr of a lean man, he is a niere skeleton, or 
shadow ; or when we use expressions tike the following : as 
swift as the wind ; as bright as the sun ; as white as the 
snow; they are swifter than eagles; they are stronger than 

2. Yet, with all its extrav^ance, hyperbole is a figure 
founded in nature. If any thing be remarkably good or 
great of its kind, or exceedingly mean and despicable, we 
are ever ready to add to it some exaggerating epithet, and 
to make it the greatest or best, or the meanest we ever saw. 
People of lively imaginations are pron^ to this kind of ex- 
aggeration: hcnee young people deal much in hyperbole; 
and hence, also, the language of the Orientals is far more 
hyperbolical than that of the Europeans, 

3. The abundance of hyperbole in all kinds of composi- 
tion, and in common conversation, shows that langni^e is 
not always to be taken literally, but according to what the 
speaker or writer may be properly supposed to mean when 
he OSes it. Hence, in all great works of the imagination — 
Boch as the writings of Homer, Virgil, Milton, and Shak- 
speare — we naturally expect an excess ofhyperbole; for the 
poet's ima^nation always outruns the cold severity of pure 
reason, and we are accustomed to make a proper allowance 
fbr the langu^e of passion. 

n,<jr.=^-h, Google 


4. ThiiB, also, when the Psalmist says, "Rivers of waters 
mn down mine eyes, because they keep not thy law," we 
understand that he merely intended to describe his exces- 
sive grief: and when, in the last verse of the Gospel accord- 
ing to St. John, we read, "And there are also many other 
things which Jesus did, the which if they should be written 
every one, I suppose that even the world itself could not 
contain the books that should be written," we do not take 
the words literally, but we understand that what John had 
written was but a scanty description of the deeds and words 
of Jesns. 

The examples in the following lesson will convey a cor- 
rect idea of the use and beauty of this figure, when properly 
used in continuous discourse. 



L god's peomisk to ibbakl. 

Didactic, or Imtmctl™.— enwrtt iltL, IB, 1ft. 

Foe all the land which thou seest, to thee will I give it, 
and to thy seed forever. And I will make thy seed as the 
dust of the earth : so that if a man can number the dust of 
the eaith, then shall thy seed also be numbered. 

neacrlptlie.— 1>bidu<'b rirgWi ^Bneid. >1L, lOM. 

Last from the Volscians fair Camilla came. 
And led her warlike troops, a warrior dame; 
Unbred to spinning, in the loom nnskill'd, 
She chose the nobler Pallas of the field. 
Mixed with the first, the fierce virago fought. 
Sustained the toils of arras, the danger sought. 
Outstripped the winds in speed upon the plain, ' 

Flew o'er tkefield,nor hurt the bearded grain : 
She avjept the seas, and as she skimmed along, 
Merjlyingfea unAathed on billofos hung. 

=^-h, Google 


DeMrlptire.— Foral flim«r'« Iliad, It., 006. 

Now Bhield with shield, with helmet helmet closed, 
To armor armor, lance to lance opposed. 
Host against host, with shadowy eqaadrons drew, 
The sounding darts in iron tempests flew. 
Victors and vanquished join promisouous cries, 
And shrilling shouts and dying groans arise ; 
With streaming blood the slippery fields are dyed. 
And slaughtered heroes swell the dreadful tide. 

rv. satah's dbspair. 

DacliratlTe sudDeBCiiptlvB.— MiLiQH'Bitoni(lfH£«e,BooklT.jIS. 

Me miserable' ! which way shall I fly 
Infinite wrath and infinite despair' ? 
Which way I fly"" is hell'; myself am hell'; 
And in the lowest depth' a lower deep. 
Still threat'ning to devour me, opens wide. 
To which the hell I suffer seems a heaven. 

Imtrnctive and DescriptiTe. 
"Boreas is a ruffian and a bully, but the northeast is a 
rascal It withers like an evil eye ; it blights like a parent's 
ourse ;. unkinder than ingratitude, more biting than forgot- 
ten benefits. It comes with sickness on its wings, and re- 
joices only the doctor and tJie sexton. MTiile it reigns, no 
fire heats, no raiment comforts, no walls protect. It deflow- 
ers the earth, and it wans the sky. The ghastliest of hues 
overspreads the face of things, and collapsing Natoi-e seems 
expiring of cholera.'* 

DeaerlptlTe,— Ssun-un's Autonff and Ctwpstro, Act IL, Scene 1. 

1 . The barge she sat in, like a burnished throne, 
Burned on the water : the poop was beaten gold : 
Purple the sails, and so perfumfedj that 
The winds were love-sick with them : the oars were wlver, 
Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made 

=^-h, Google 


The water, wbioh they beat, to follow faster, 
Ab amorous of their strokes. 

I. For her own person — 

It be^ar'd all desoription ; she did lie 
In her pavilion (oloth of gold, of tissue), 
O'er pictDting that Venus, where we see 
The fancy ont-work nature : on each side her 
Stood pretty dimpled boys, like smiling Cupids, 
With divers^olor'd fans, whose wind did seem 
To glow the delicate cheeks which they did cool, 
And what they undid', did'. 



TroclUlC meuDN. (Sea p. SW.) A Sui FnnciMo BiDad. 

C8«e, aleo, "Qiowth or CALi>ouiu,"Lusoik ZIV.] 

1. CiTToftheWest, 

Built up in a minute, 
Hurry, hurry, hurry. 

Every thing within it : 
Every nook and comer 

Riled to overflowing; , 
I^ke a locomotive, 

Every body going ! 

2. Sandy city streets 

Piled up full of lumber; 
Buildings going up, 

Nnmbers without number; 
Even hodmen hurry 

With the bricks they bear ; 
Wagons thunder on 

Through each thorongh&re. 

3. Every body goes 

Fast as he can dash on ; 

r:,,r.=^i by Google 


Never minding clothes, 
Etiquette or fashion ; 

Dry or muddy BeSBon, 
' Rainy day or eanny, 

Every body driving 
Bargains to make money, 

4. City of the West, 

Built up in a minute, 
In a boaineBS bustle. 

Every body in it : 
On a race with time, 

Fast as he can go, — 
Every body thinks 

Telegraphing slow ! 



ollonlag llWrary eitraiiev"' 1^ > choice apednmi of bnmorona hvptrioU.1 

1. The Comet' 1 He is ou his way. 

And singing as he flies; 
The whizzing planets shrink before - 

The spectre of the skies : 
Ah 1 well may regal orbs bum blue, 

And satellites turn pate ; 
Ten million cubic miles of head] 

Ten billion leagues of tail I 

2. And what would happen to the land\ 

And how would look the sea', 
If in the bearded devil's path 

Our earth should chance to be'? 
Full hot and high the sun would boil, 

Full red the forests gleam; 
Methonght I saw and heard it all" 

In a dyspeptic dream I 

h, Google 


3. I saw a tutor take hie tube, 

The Comet's course to spy ; 
I lieard a scream, — the gathered rays 

Had stewed the tutor's eye ; 
I saw a fort, — the soldiers all 

Were armed with goggles green ; 
Fop cracked the guns ! whiz flew the balls I 

Bang went the magazine I 

4. I saw a poet dip a scroll 

Each moment in a tub, 
I read upon the warping back 

"The Dream of Beelzebub ;" 
He could not see his verses bum. 

Although his brain was fried. 
And ever and anon he bent 

To wet them as they dried. 

6. I saw the scalding pitch run down 

The crackling, sweating pines ; 
And streams of smoke, like water-sponts, 

Burst through the rumbling minea; 
I asked the firemen why they made 

Such noise about the town ; 
They answered not, — bnt all the while 

'the brakes went np and down. 

6. I saw a roasting pullet sit 

Upon a baking egg; 
I saw a cripple scorch his hand 

Extinguishing bis leg; 
I saw nine geese upon the wing 

Toward the frozen pole. 
And every mother's gosling fell 

Crisped to a crackling coaL 

1, I saw the ox that browsed the grass 
Writhe in the blistering rays; 
The herbage in his shrinking jaws 
Was all a fiery blaze : 



I saw hnge fishes, boiled to rags, 

Bob throngh the bubbling brine ; 
And thoughts of supper crossed my soul; — 

I had been rash at mine. 

i. Strange sights ! strange sounds ! oh fearful dream ! 

Its memory haunts me stili, — 
The steaming sea, the crimson glare. 

That wreathed each wooded hill : 
Stranger! if throngh thy reeling brain 

Such midnight visions sweep, 
Spare, spare, oh spare thine evening meal, 

And sweet shall be thy sleep 1 


I wiLL'have all my beds hlovm' up, not stuffed'. 

Down is too hard ; — and then my oval room 

Filled with such pictures as Tiberius took 

From Elephantis, and dull Ar'e tine 

But coldly imitated. — My mists 

ril have of perfljme, vapored 'bout the room, 

To lose ourselves in ; and my baths, like pits 

To fall into, from whence we will come forth, 

And roll ns dry in gossamer and roses; — 

My meat shall all come in Indian shells, 

Dishes of agate, set in gold, and studded 

With emeralds, sapphires, hyacinths, and rubies; 

The tongues of carp, dormice, and camel's heels 

Boiled in the spirit of sol and dissolvfed pearl; 

And I will eat these broths with spoons of amber, 

Headed with diamond and carbuncle. 

My footboy shall eat pheasants; I myself will have 

The beards of barbels served Instead of salads. 

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Unolyaff. — 1. ludeBniteneH of ridicule. Tbe flmotion to which It glTCC rise. 
What It does, yrbaive derldt. What we H(fi7ul>.—S. Otjecta that excite to laagb- 
ter. What oblecU an iDlrthftil only. Why difficult to dedde what objecU are real- 
ly mlrthfliL The attempt to oioite langhter in othera— 3. What Is Wfl Where it 
may he fuuniL Why a delicate fhetrDment lo handle.— 4. Why difficalt of lllnstra- 
tlon. What It needs. Two dlTlBlons oflL'-S, Thepundeecribed. A pan hy Car- 
nui.^4. Jadge Story and Edward BTerett— I. The pan of tbe fin-fly.— 8, The wit 
of prorerhe. Berlona pnna. Exantple from Doddridge. HumoroDa poetry. — V. Wit 

Id the thmtglit. In what It condsls.— ID. AurleM^iu.— 11. Example from Burke 13. 

From Pope IS, Resonrcea ofwlt. Humor. Sarctvnii, Satirt, Satires of Horace 

and Javeaal 14. An unladylike aarcasm U. The TtparUe. Example ofaaerlooa 

tepartee.— IS. A repartee hy Voltaire IT. Irony, What it li. What it does. — 18. 

Spoken irony. WriUeo irony. Example of irony.— 19, Irony, by Elijah the proph- 
et.— 30. Scriptare irony, cloelng with a solemn appeal— 31. Caution Id tbe me of 
ridlcoiB, wil, et«i. The ftle of wl Is,— lllnel rated hy a Blnifle.— K. The too free nae 
ofamall wll 39. ThedlTerslonsof£anMr(ii$andii<iJUeri/of:eDpDrchased too dear- 
ly.— 34 and 3S. Allegorical illostratione trom Lacon-i 

1. KiDictTLE is BO indefinite in its objects, and has so many 
phases of expressioa, that it can not properly be called a fig- 
ure of speech, nor is it easy of definition : but the emotion to 
which it give^ rise is well known; and it uses, at times, all 
figures for the attainment of its object. It is calculated to 
excite laughter mingled with contempt, and thus corresponds 
nearly to derision ; although we deride persons only, bnt rid- 
icule both persons and things. We ridicule the man; but 
we deride both the man and hia performances. 

2. Certain objects, and certain kinds of composition, ex- 
cite to laughter, without aiming at ridicule ; while others 
are both mirthful and ludicrous. Those objects which are 
mirthful only are slight, little, or trivial ; for we laugh at 
nothing that is of real importance to ourselves or to others. 
And yet it is often difficult to distinguish what objects we 
may count upon as being really mirthfiil ; for all men are 
not equally affected by risible objects, nor the same man st 

■ ii,Gi:H)(^Ie 


sU times. Hence it is a very difficult matter to attempt to 
excite laaghter io othera, unless we can present to tbem that 
which is positively ludicrous. 

3. Wit is the power of readily combining objects and 
thoughts in such unexpected asBociations as to canee a pleas- 
ant surprise, and at the same time awaken the emotion of 
the ladicrons. Hence there is often wit in a happy carica- 
ture, and in the mimicry of gestures and manner, as well as 
in odd thoughts and expressions. But wit is a delicate in- 
strument to handle ; for if it h6 used improperly, so as to o(- 
fend our sense of propriety and right, the anticipated pleas- 
ure gives place to disgust or indignation. 

4. Wit is also difficult of illustration. It is so light and 
volatile that, often, when we attempt to seize it, it is gone. 
It needs the occasion — the circumstance and its surround- 
ings — to make it felt ; and hence, when repeated, it often 
becomes bat a sorry counterfeit. It is generally divided 
into wit in the ea^eesion, and wit in the thought. 

5. To wit in the expression belongs the fmn, which is a 
play upon words ; as when one chooses words of the same 
sound, bat of different meanings, and uses them in ludicrons 
combinations, aa in the following ; That Irish wit and ora- 
tor, Cnrran, was one day walking with a friend who was 
pnnctilions in the use of language. Hearing a person say 
" curosity" for curiosity, the friend exclaimed, " How that 
man murders the langnage !" " Not quite mwd&ra it," re- 
plied Curran ; " he only knocks an i (eye) out I" 

6. The happy use of the pun in paying a merited compli- 
ment is shown in the following anecdote. At a public din- 
ner in Boston, at which Judge Story and Edward Everett 
were the prominent personages present, the former gave the 
following volunteer toast: "Fame follows merit where Ee- 
erett goes." The gentleman thus delicately complimented 
at once arose, and replied with this equally felicitous im- 
promptu ; " To whatever height judicial learning may attain 
in this country, there will always be one Siory higher." 

7. A certain Doctor D , in alluding to a work called 

the Vestiges of Creation, took exception to the alleged pro- 
duction of winged insects from pulverized flint-stone and 



electricity, on the ground that the experiment had never 
been euccessfiilly repeated. " Never i-epeated !" interrupted 
a witty law friend, " Why, the experiment has been made 
from time immemorial. Always, when the flint is struck by 
steel, it makes the fire jly." 

8, Many proverbs owe their force principally to this kind 
of wit, although more ofthemto wit in the thought. There 
are puns, however, of a serious character, from which the lu- 
dicrous is excluded, as in the following familiar versification 
of a common proverb by Dr. Doddridge: 

" 'Lib* ivhile you line,' Chs epicure wonld say, 
And seize the pleasures of (he present day : 
'JAve white yon live,' the sacred preacher cries, 
And give to God each moment as it Sies : 
Lord, in my view let both uoited be : 
I live to pleaanre' when I li^e in thee'. " 

Humorous poetry overflows with puns, of which there are 
many happy examples in the writings of Hood, Lamb, 
Holmes, and many others. 

9, Wit in the thought is of a higher character than a play 
upon words, but is not always so easily distinguished as the 
latter. It consists of ludicrous images, and thoughts fantas- 
tically arranged ; such as those in which eifects are traced 
to fanciful causes^ small things joined with great in ludi- 
crous conjunction', premises assumed that promise much 
and perform nothing', and in which any kind of extrav- 
agance in the thought is introduced. 

10. To wit in the thought belongs burlesque, which treats 
trifling subjects with gravity, or turns serious subjects into 
ridicule, as in th& parody; and it often joins, in a ludicrous 
manner, small things and great, as when the orator Burke, 
speaking of the revoJntionists of his time, thus belittles them 
by likening the great noise they made to the chirping of 
some noisy but very insignificant insects : 

11. "Because half a dozen grasshoppers under a fern 
make the field ring with their importunate chink, while 
thousands of great cattle repose in the shade and are silent, 
pray do not suppose that those who make the noise are the 
only inhabitants of the field ; or that, after all, they are oth- 


er than the little, meagre, hopping, though loud and trouble- 
some insects of the hour." 

12. In this same ludicrous and extravagant mingling of 
the great and the little. Pope thus burlesques those who 
make a great ado about nothing : 

"Then floehed the Imid lightoiag from her ejea, 
And screams of horror rend the affrighted skiea : 
"Sot louder shrieks to pitting Heaven sxe cast, 
WbeD husbands, and when lapdogs, breathe their last." 

13. But the resources of wit are numerous. Irony, carica- 
ture, hyperbole, and extravagance of every kind, play their 
part in ministering to its vai-ied uses; and it enters into 
nearly every kind and atyle of compoaition. In a quiet 
way it associates with good temper, and imparts that agree- 
able humor which characterizes such writers as Addison, 
Lamb, Hood, Sydney Smith, Irving, and Holmes. In s<Er- 
casm it gives expreaeion to contempt and scorn. In satire 
it holds up vice and folly to reprobation, sometimes ridicul- 
ing them humorously and with good nature, as in the Satires 
of Horace, who employed the gentler arts of humor and rail- 
lery''; but more frequently, as in the writings of Juvenal, 
rebuking them with severity and indignation. 

14. As an instance of sarcasm, we give the following, al- 
though doubtful if the wit will atone for the unladylike 
character which may be attributed to it. 

The astronomer Lalande'^, being one day seated at table 
between Madame Recamier* and Madame de Stael", the for- 
mer celebrated for her beauty, and the latter distinguished 
for her wit, and wishing to say something agreeable to the 
ladies, esclaimed, " How happy I am to he thus placed be- 
tween wit and beauty !" "Yes, M. Lalando," sarcastically 
replied Madame de Stael, " and without poHHesaing either." 
The wit of the reply is in its double meaning, which only 
serves to sharpen the edge of the sarcasm. 

15. A repartee may be witty, but it can not be considered 
as a y^ecies of wit; inasmuch as there are many happy rep- 
artees that are extremely serious, from which the ludicrous 
is wholly excluded. Witness the following. A certain pet- 
ulant Greek, objecting to Anaoharsis that he veAa a Scythian 

L, ■■ kGcid^Ic 


— that 18, a Dative of a country that had not a good reputa- 
tion; "True," says Anacharsis, "my country disgraces me, 
but you disgrace your country." 

16. Voltiure waa noted for his readiness in repartea On 
a certain occasion, on hearing the name of Haller mentioned, 
he bestowed upon him the highest praise as a writer and 
man of science. "It ia very strange," remarked a person 
present, " that you speak so well of him, for he says that 
yoM ai'e a charlatan." " Oh !" replied Voltaire, " I think it 
very probable that we are both mistaken !" 

17. Irony is such a use of language as is designed to con- 
vey a meaning directly opposite to the literal import of the 
words. Hence it exposes the errors or fanlts of others by 
seeming to adopt, reprove, or defend them ; it reprove un- 
der the appearance of praising,— laughs at a man under the 
disguise of appearing to speak leell of him. It turns things 
into ridicule in a manner peculiar to itself, and, though not 
a species of wit, is often witty in its applications. 

18. In spoken irony, the true meaning is generally dis- 
cerned from the manner of the speaker, — as by a smile, the 
intonation of the voice, an arch look, or perhaps by an af- 
fected gravity of countenance ; and in written language by 
the context, the circumstances of the case, etc If one 
known to be a very impudent fellow should be spoken of 
as "a person of distinguished modesty," it would be an in- 
stance of strong irony. 

19. When the prophets of Baal were striving in vain to 
induce some demonstrations of the presence and power of 
their god, Elijah, the prophet of Jehovah, mocked them In 
a tone of irony, and said, "Cry al6nd : for he ia a g6d ! 
Either he is tSIUng, or he la pursuing, or he ia in a j6umey, 
or peradventure he sleSpeth, and must be awaked"," 

20. Irony often closes with a solemn appeal or warning, 
as in the following: "Ilej6ice, O young man, in thy y&uth; 
and let thy heart chefir thee in the days of thy yonth, and 
walk in the ways of thine heart, and in the sight of thine 
ey6a" : but know thon, that for all these things" God will 
bring thee into judgment." 

21. It should be borne in mind that exceeding caution is 



requisite in the use of ridicole, wit, aatire, and irony, lest, 
being improperly applied, they return to torment the in- 
ventOF. An elegaot writer has happily observed, that he 
who deserts reaBon, and gives himself up entirely to the 
guidance of wit, wilt certainly fall into many pitfalls and 
quagmires, — like him who walks by flashes of lightniog, 
rather than by the steady beams of the sun. 

22. The danger that sometimes attends a too free use of 
that kind of small wit termed bantering and r&illery, is well 
illustrated in the following extract from the talented author 
of Lacon : 

23. "There are many good-natnred persons who have paid 
the forfeit of their lives to their love of bantering and rtiil- 
lery. Ko doubt they have had much diversion, but they 
have purchased it at too dear a rate. Although their wit 
and their brilliancy may have been often extfilled, yet it has 
at last been extinguished forever; and by a foe, perhaps, 
who had neither the one nor the other, but who fonnd it 
easier to point a sword than a repartee^ 

24. " I have heard of a man in the province of Bengal, 
who had been a long time very snccessfiil in hnnting the 
tiger. His skill gained him great ecl&t, and insured him 
much diversion : but at length he narrowly escaped with his 
life. He then relinquished the sport, with this observation : 
'Tiger hunting is very fine amusement, so long as we hunt 
the tiger; but it is rather awkward when the tiger takes it 
into his head to hunt us.' 

25. "Again, skill in small wit, like skill in small-arms, is 
very apt to beget a confidence which may prove fatal in the 
end. We may either mistake the proper moment — for even 
cowards have their fighting days — or we may mistake the 
proper man. 

26. "A certain Savoyard', who got his livelihood by ex- 
hibiting a monkey and a bear, gained so much applause 
from his tricks with the monkey, that be was encouraged to 
practice some of them upon the bear. The result was, that, 
finally, he was dreadfully lacerated ; and on being rescued 
with great difiiculty from the gripe of bruin, he exclaimed, 
" What a fool I was, not to distinguish between a monkey 




and a bear! A bear, my fnends, is a very grave kind of per- 
sonage, and, aa you plainly see, does not understand a joke' !" 

H The BacStlor-t Seliliiqaff, page tU. 

: aalMcal meTTlmeat. 
E (IBh Itoid'), H celebraled Franoh Mtronomer, bom In ITSS. 
w praDonnccd le cli'm; i. • Di Srili., proDOoaced nUl, or atawl. 

lUi', h lutlia of Siv'o; ; one of the Sudlnlsn States, eonth ol Bwitxer- 



1. Our Father land^ ! And wonld'st thou know 

Why -we ahonld caff it Father land'' ? 
It iB~ that Adam, here below, 

Was made of earth by Nature's hand'. 
And he, our father, made of earth, 

Hath peopled earth on every hand ; 
And we, in memory of his birth. 

Do call our country" "Father land." 

2. At first, in Eden's bowers, they say, 

Ko Bonnd of epeeoh had Adam caught, 
But whistled like a bird, all day ; 

And maybe 'twas for want of thought: 
But Nature, with.reBistless laws, 

Made Adam soon surpass the birds; 
She gave him lovely Eve' — because', 

If he'd a wife' — they must have v)orda\ 

3. And so, the Natitb Land" I hold 

By male descent", is, proudly, mine' : 
The Laivsttagb, as the tale hath told, 

Was given in the female lina 
And thus, we see, on either hand. 

We name our blessings whence they've sprung ; 
Wg call our country" Father latui. 

We call oar language" Mothbb tongue. 

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A Legend or Glotham.— John Q.Saii. 

tJoBH GoDmnv Saxk, an A 

1. Oh, terribly proud was Misa MacBride, 
The very person ification of pride, 

As she miaced along in fashion's tide, 
Adown Broadway — on the proper side — 

When the golden sun was setting; 
There was pride in the head she carried eo high. 
Pride in her lip, and pride in her eye. 
And a world of pride in the very sigh 

That her stately bosom was fretting I 

2. And yet the pride of Miss MacBride, 
Although it had fifty hobbies to ride, 

Had really no foundation; 
Bnt, like the fabrics that gossips devise — 
Those single stories that often arise 
And grow till they reach a four-story size- 
Was merely a &noy creation ! 

8. Her birth, indeed, was uncommonly high — 
For Miss MacBride first opened her eye 
Through a skylight dim, on the light of the sky ; 

But pride is a curious passion — 
And in talking about her wealth and worth, 
She always forgot to mention her birth 

To people of rank and fashion ! 

4. But Miss MacBride had something beside 
Her lofty birth to nourish her pride— 
For rich was the old paternal MacBride, 

■ ii,Gi:H)(^Ie 


According to public rumor; 
And he lived " up town," in a splendid equar^ 
And kept his daughter on dainty fare, 
And gave her gems that were rich and rare, 
And the finest ringa and things to wear, 

And feathers eoough to plume her. 

5. A thriving tailor begged her band, 

But she gave " the fellow" to understand, 

By a violent manual action, 
She perfectly ecorned the best of his clan. 
And reckoned the ninth of any man 

An exceedingly vulgar fraction ! 

6. Another, whose sign was a golden boot, 
Was mortified with a bootless suit, ■ 

In a way that was quite appalling ; 
For, though a regular sutoi* by trade. 
He wasn't a suitor to suit the maid. 
Who cut him off with a saw — and bade 

"The cobbler to keep to his calling!" 

1. The last of those who came to court 
Was a lively beau of the dapper sort, 
"Without any visible means of support," 

A crime by no means flagrant 
In one who wears an elegant coat, 
Bnt the very point on which they vote 

A ragged fellow " a vagi-ant !" 

8, Now dapper Jim his courtship plied 
(I wish the feet could be denied) 
With an eye to the purse of the old MacBride, 

And, really, " nothing shorter !" 
For he said to himself, in his greedy lust, 
"Whenever de dies— as die he must — 
And yields to Heaven his vital trnst, 
He's very sure to ' come down with his duBt,' 

In behalf of his only daughter." 



I. And the very magniGceDt Miss MacBride, 
Half in love, and half in pride, 

Qnite graciously relented ; 
And, tossing her head, and turning her back, 
No token of proper pride to lack — 
To be a bride without the "Mac," 

With much diedaiit, consented ! 

1. Alas ! that people who've got their box 
Of cash beneath the best of locks, 
Secure from all financial shocks, 

Should stock their fancy with fancy Btocka, 
And madly rush upon Wall-street rocks, 

Without the least apology ! 
Alas 1 that people whose money-afiairs 
Ai-e sound, beyond all need of repairs, 
Should ever tempt the bulls and bears" 

Of Mammon's fierce zoology ! 

2. Old John MacBride, one fatal day, 
Became the unresisting prey 

Of fortune's undertakers; 
And staking all on a single die, 
His foundered bark went high and dry 

Among the brokers and bi-eakei's I 

3. At his trade again in the very shop. 
Where, years before, he let it drop, 

He follows his ancient calling — 
Cheerily, too, in poverty's spite, 
And sleeping quite as sound at night, 
As when, at fortune's giddy height, 
He used to wake with a dizzy fright 

From a dismal dream of falling. 

4. But, alas, for the haughty Miss MacBride, 
Twas such a shock to her precious pride ! 
She couldn't recover, althongh she tried 

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Her jaded epirite to rally; 
Twas a dreadful change in human affairs, 
From a place " up town," to a nook " up staire," — 

From an avenae, down to an alley I 

6. And to make her cup of woe run over, 
Her elegant, ardent, plighted lover 

Was the very first to forsake her; 
" He quite regretted the step, 'twas true — 
The lady had pride enough ' for two,' 
But that alone would never do 

To quiet the butcher and baker !" 

G. And now the unhappy Miss MaoBride — 
The merest ghost of her early pride — 

Bewails her lonely position ; 
Cramped in the very narrowest niohe. 
Above the poor, and below the rich — 

Was ever a worse condition ! 


7. Because you flourish in worldly affairs, 
Don't be haughty, and put on airs, 

With insolent pride of station! 
Don't be proud, and turn up your nose 
At poorer people in plainer clothes. 
But learn, for the sake of your mind's repose, 
That wealth's a bubble that comes — and goes ! 
And that all proud fiesh, wherever it grows, 
'^^ Is subject to irritation I 

* SDtoi Is tie L*tln tbr «tlo«nisk«T. 

The tmlU and the ieari, In cant lugaage, are the two oppOBlng cliques of Wall 
Street broken: tbe rormer openle lo effect a rfM iD >toclu,aDd ilie lstl«i to csnee 
a decline j— ae the btillt tou np vllh their boma, end the item poll down witb their 


Tliii'lys, being asked what thing is the most Qniversally 

enjoyed, answered, " Hope : for they have it who have noth- 





1. PoOB Diet, the happiest ailly fellow I ever knew, waa 
of the number of thoee good-natured creatures that are said 
to do no harm to any but themselves. Whenever he fell 
into any misery, he called it " seeing life." If his head was 
broken by a chairman, or his pocket picked by a sharper, he 
comforted himself by imitating the Hibernian dialect of the 
one, or the more fashionable cant of the other. Nothing 
came amiss to him. 

2. Although the eldest of three sons, his inattention to 
money matters had incensed his father to such a degree 
that all intercession of friends was fruitless. The old gen- 
tleman was on his death-bed. The whole family (and Dick 
among the nnmber), gathered around him. " I leave my 
second son Andrew," said the expiring miser, " my whole 
estate; and desire him to be frugal." "Ah! father," said 
Andrew, in a sorrowful tone (as is usual on these occasions), 
"may heaven prolong your life and health to enjoy it your- 

3. " I recommend Simon, my third son, to the care of his 
elder brother; and leave him, besides, four thousand pounds." 
" Ah ! father," cried Simon (in great affliction, to be sure), 
"may heaven give you life and health to enjoy it yourself I" 

4. At last, taming to poor Dick, "As for you, you have 
always been a sad dog; you'll never come to good; you'll 
never be rich ; I leave you a shilling to buy a halter." "Ah I 
father," cries Dick, without any emotion, "may heaven give 
you l{fe and heaUh to enjoy it yoitradfP^ 

An old author qnaintly remarks : — ^Avoid ailment with 
ladies. In spinning yams among silks and satins, a man is 
sure to be worsted; and when a man is worsted, he may con- 
sider himself about the same as wound up. 

n,<jr.=^-h, Google 


LESSON LXXX. , _ ., 


A bDmoroaa ponnliig Ballad.— Thou u Hood. 
(TiiOM*BlIooTs1>omiiiLoDdaii,EDgluid,liims; died In 184B. Be wrote nDcli 
for vuioDs periodlcalB: and bis lllb was one ottnceeeant exertion, embittered bj lil 
health and all the diaqaleK ud BDcettalDtiea oC aulliOT^lp. In moat of bU wrli- 
ingii,eTen In hla pans and ICTlIlea, there la a "epiril of gcxid" directed to aonie 
kindly or philanthropic object.] 

1. Bbn Battle was a ssldier bold, 

And ased to war's alarms ; 
But a oannon-ball took off hia legs. 
So be laid down bis arms. 

2. Now, as they bore him off the field, 

Said he, "Let others^ shoot; 

For here I leave my second leg, 

And the Forty-second foot." 

3. The army enrgeons made him limbe^; 

S^d he, "They're only pegs*. 
But they're as wooden members qnite 
As represent my legs." 

4. Now Ben, he loved a pretty maid\ 

Her name' was Nelly Gray* ; 

So he went to pay her bis devoirg'"; 

When he'd (fepowr'rf Ya&pay. 

5. But when he called on Nelly Gray, 

She made him qnite a scoS^ 
And when she saw his wooden legs, 
Began to take them off. 

6. *■ Oh Nelly Gray' ! oh Nelly Gray' I 

Is thia yoar love so warm' ? 

The love that loves a scarlet coat 

Sboald be more uniform.'" 

•i>nslr*'(diTWor'),FieaClli rcapects: dneactiofclvUll/. " 



7, Said she', " I loved a soldier^ once', 

For he was blithe and brave^ ; 
Bnt I will never have a man 
With both legs in the grave'. 

8. "Before you had these timber toes, 

To'ur love I did allow'. 
But then, you know, yoa stand upon 
Aaotber footing^ now." 

S. " Oh lalse and fickle Kelly Gray, 
I know why you refuse : 
Though I've ao feet', another' man 
Is standing in my shoes'. 

10. " I wish I ne'er had seen your face ; 

But now, a long farewell 1 
For you will be my death' ;— -alas' ! 
Ton will not be my Nell I" 

11. Now when he went from Nelly Gray, 

His heart so heavy got', 
And life was such a burden grown', 
It made him take a knot'. 

12. So, round his melancholy neck 

A rope did he entwine'. 
And for the second time in life, 
Enlisted in the Line. 

13. One end he tied around a beam, 

And then removed his pegs', 
And, as his legs were off, of course, 
Se soon was off his legs. 

14. And there he hung till he was dead 

As any nail in town' : 
For though diBtre&B had out him up', 
It could not <;ut him dotojC. 

=^-h, Google 




) on lliBt very common propenrity orhomaD nsture— found not 
Iran and eenanU ■lone-'to IgnoK oar petty sboncomlDga:— it la so lery 
lent to nuke Mr. Soboin > Bcspegoat for tbeia.1 

1. I KNOW a funny little man, 

Ab quiet aa a mouse, 
Who does the mischief that ia done 

In every body's house. 
There's no one ever sees his face, 

And yet we all agree. 
That every plate we break was cracked" 

By Mr. No-bod-ee. 

2. 'TIS he who always tears our books. 

Who leaves our doors ajar; 
He pulls the buttons from our shirts, 

And scatters pins afar. 
That squeaking door will always squeak, 

For, prithee, don't you see. 
We leave the oiling to be done 

By Mr. No-hod^ f 

3. The finger-marks upon the doors 

By none of us are made; 
We never leave the blinds nncloaed 

To let the curtains fade ; 
The ink we never spill ; the boots 

That lying round you see, 
Are not our boots I They all belong" * 

To Mr. No-bod^. 

Pyrrho used to say, " There is no difference between liv- 
ing and dying." A person asked him, "Why, then, do yoo 
not die' ?" " Because*," he replied, " there i» no difference." 

r:,,r.=^i by Google 




Oktrui VmuiLL Houtn. 

[The (allnwInK po«m wu iddreBsed to Ibe clua ol ISIS, In Hurard CalleKe, aqme 
tblrt; ;ean after tbeir gndsstlon. TliG latbor, Ignorlug the lapse of time, and Im- 
agtelng bis daeemaUB to be gathered aroand bbn as of old, and coaceivln|[ tbem 
aUU la be "bo7^"addmule9 Iheia ae each, while lie tieats the hoDoia aad rapDt«- 
Uoatbe}' bad acquired aa" a Deal little lh:Uon,"vrblctitlie world fan dee to be "tnu/" 

Thiiplecdia a flue example of combined vlt andbamor. aadreqairea mnch varie- 
ty tifinUatiim Id the reading. It begins vilb tbe tone of mock indignation, vhloh 
li dropped attbo close of the seeoBd verse,— eon tlnnee ia tbe milder tone ot comic 
HTlousneee, tnd most bappU; cloaea with ■ toncblog ^ipeal tbat gltea point and 
force to Che whola.] 

1. Has there any old fellow got mixed with-the boys'? 
If there baa, take him out, without making a noise. 
Hang the almanac's cheat and the catalogue's spite' ! 
Old Time is a liar' ! we're twenty' to-night ! 

2. We're twenty' I We're twenty' ! Who says we are 

He's tipsy, — young jackanapes' I — show him the door' ! 
" Gray temples at twenty' ?" — Yes' ! white" if we please' ; 
Where the snow-flakes fall thickest' there's nothing can 


8, Was it snowing I spoke of? Excuse the mistake ! 
Look close,— you will see not a sign of a flake 1 
We want some new garlands for those we have shed, 
And these are tohite roses in place of the red. 

4, Welve a trick", we young fellows", you may have been 
Of talking (in public) as if we were old ; [told, 
That Doy~ we call "Doctor" and this" we call "Judge ;" 
It's a neat little fiction,— of coui-ae it's all fudge. 

5. That fellow's tbe " Speaker," the one on the right ; 
"Mr. Mayor," my young one, how are you to-night? 
That's our "Member of Congress," we say when we chaiT; 
There's the "Reverend" — what's hie name? — don't make 

me laugh. 

=^-h, Google 


0. That boy with the grave mathematical loot 
Made believe he had written a wonderful book, 
And the Royal Society thought it was Iruet 
So they chose him right in, — a good joke it was too 1 

7. There's a boy, we pretend, with a three-decker brain, 
That coald haroeBa a team with a logical chain ; 
When he epoke for our manhood in sy^llabled fire, 

We called him " The JuBtioe," but now he's the " Squire." 

8. And there's a nice youngBter of excellent pith; 
Fate tried to conceal him by naming him Smith ; 
But he shonted a song for the brave and the free, — 
Just read on his medal, " My country," " of thee I" 

9. You bear that boy laughing' ? Tou think he's all fun ; 
But the angels laugh, too, at the good he has done: 
The children laugh loud as they troop to bis call, 
And the poor man that knows him laughs loudest of all 1 

10. Tes, we're boys', — always playing with tongue or with 

And I sometimes have asked, Shall we ever be men' 7 
Shall we always be youthful, and laughing, and gay, 
Till the last dear companion drops smiling away' ? 

11. Then here's to our boyhood, its gold and its gray I 
The stars" of its winter', the dews" of its Maj' I 
And when we have done with our life-lasting toys. 
Dear Father, take care of Thy children, Ths Boys 1 

A SHORT ttma since, ai eeverat persons wore etandinf; on a wharf at Ijv- 
erpool, one of them slipped into the dock. An Irishman plunged into the 
water, nnd, after n severe struggle, rescued the person mjm the waves. 
When ^e man had recovered from his ducking, he took some change out 
or his pocket, and, selecting a sixpence, handed it to the Irishman. The 
Intter looked an instant at the sixpence in the palm of his hand, and tlien 
slon-ly meaaurod with his eje the individual wliom he had rescued, and ob- 
serving that he was a \Kty thin, withered little man, he pnt the money into 
his pocket, and turned on his heel,saj^ng signilicanilf, "It's enough 1" 

by Google 


LESSON ixxxra. 


1. The Epiffratn, which is a pointed couplet or stanza, 
or any short poem in which the thoughts and ezpressions 
converge to one sharp point at the close, has had many 
epigrammatio definitioiis, from which we select the follow- 

" Wlut is on Epigrsm ?— A dwarfish whole j 
liB body Brevilf, and Wit ils aaul." 

2. The following describes the character of the epigram 
more fully : 

" The point that in the ending finds s jUaee, 
We call the Epigram's peculiar gnce ; — 
Some UDexpected and eome bitiog thought, , 
Witli poignant wit, and sharp expression frsncliL" 

3. Bat for brevity and wit combined, the following defini- 
tion, in the form of a simile, translated from that celebrated 
Latin epigrammatist, Martial, who lived more than eighteen 
hundred years ago, must bear away the palm: 

"Ad Epigram a like a bee — a thing 
Of little size, with hoaej, and a sting. " 

4. The following good examples of Epigram will give 
some idea of the varieties of wit of which it is made the 
medium. The first is by Dean Swift. 

On a Kould-le Wit. 
You beat your pate, and fancy wit will come ; 
Knock as you will, there's nobody at home. 

6. Satire on a poor Jieader. 

The verses', fKend', which thou hast read', are mine' ; 
But, as tfum' read'st them', they may pass for thine'. 

Swans' sing' before they die' ; 'twere no bad thing 
Should certain persons die" before they sing. 

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Sarcastic Repartee. 
Jack, eating rotten cheese, did Bay, 
" Lilte Samson, I my thousands slay !" 
" Yes," cried a wag, " indeed you do, 
And with the Belf-«ame weapon too." 

A vsitty H^ort, 
A haughty courtier, meeting in the BtreetB 
A^holar, him thus insolently greets : 
"^ase men to take the wall I ne'er permit !" 
The scholar said, "I do" — and gave him it 

Who wu botb «ho«iii^er ud poet.— Bison. 

1. Stklngbb ! behold, interred together, 
The souls of learning and of leather. 
Poor Joe is gone, bat left his aU: 
You'll find his relics in a stall. 

His works were neat, and often found 
Well etUched, and with morocco bound. 

2. Tread lightly — where the bard is laid 
He can not mend the shoe he made ; 
Yet is he happy in his hole, 

With verse immortal as his sole. 
But still to business he held fast. 
And stuck to Phoabus to the last. 

3. Then who shall say so good a fellow 
Was only " leather and prunella ?" 
For character — he did not lack it ; 

And, if he did, 'twere shame to "Slack-it." 

The folloidng is probablj the best definition averpven of mind and nut- 
ter. " What ii mind r Nomatter. What isinstter? Kevermind." 

=^-h, Google 



Unoljato.—]. WhBl 1> Ar»n(jlMttoBf—f. A bold, but common flgnrt—S. The flnt, 
or lowest degieeof IL— 4, Secoiid decree, with eiimpleB.— B. DescriptiOD of Blhnn- 
der-itorm, by BjroE — 6. DBBcrlptlon of Monnt Pellon.— I, Sbakepeare'e os« otlb\e 
flgnrelBdnctiblagsUiidar— r, 8,8. Nstaral Religion penonlflfld.— 10. Where pei- 
■unUlutlons of tbe Mcond degree an moil ibnndant.— 11. Earth and Xalnre pei- 

■DnlfledbJFHUtDQ IS. The third and hlgheal degree of thla AEore. Where the llnE 

two degrees oTthiaOgara are employed. The third— when only to be stlempled 

13. Nature of all panloiK lo Uniggle (&r eiprenlDii. How they «eek relief. Eiam- 
' rd degree of penonincatioD, from Milton 11. Eve's Addrese to Fars- 

1. PsBSONmcATioiT IB a figure by wbicb we attribute life 
and action to inanimate objects ; as when we speak of a r&g- 
iiig storm, a deceitful disease, a cruel diBaster, an obedietU 
ship, the angry ocean. 

2. It is apparently a very bold fignre of thought to speak 
of stones, and trees, and fields, and rivers, as if they were 
living creatures, and to attribute to them thought and sen- 
sation, affections and actions ; and yet it is so common that 
it seems to be the natural language of imagination and pas- 

3. In the first or lowest degree of this figure, some of the 
properties or qualities of living creatures are ascribed to in- 
animate objects, as in the examples already given, in which 
eome epithet expresses the personification. Even when thus 
limited, this figure, when properly employed, adds much 
beauty and sprightllnesa to language. 

4. We proceed a step farther, and in the second degree of 
this figure introduce inanimate objects as acting like beings 
endowed with life ; as when we say, the ground thirete for 
rain, the earth amiUa with plenty: when, in speaking of the 
Bun as a monarch, we Bay,"Jf6 looks in boundless majesty 

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abroad;" and also when we use langnage like the followiDg: 
"The sea taw it, and./fe?; Jordan was driven back; the 
moniitfuiiB BkippedXSkt: rams, and the little hills like lamia." 
5: Byron makea use of thie figui-e in one of the grandest 
descriptions ever penned — that of- a thunder-storm among 
the Alps : 


" Far along, 
From peak to peak, the rattling crags among, 
Leaps the live thunder ! Not from one lond oloud, 
But every mountain now hath found a tongue, 
And Jura answers through her misty shioiid, 
Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud." 

' Chiide ITaroldfCaabo iiL, 02. 

6. When the poet, standing on the plains of Thessaly, and, 
looking up to Mount Pelion, hears the wind murmuring 
through the waving pines that crown its summit, how beau- . 
tiful is the language of personification in which he paints 
the scene : 

" Aod PelioD diook his fieiy locks, and talk'd 
MoarafoU? to ibe fields of Tbessal^." 

7. Shakspeare uses this figure, when, to describe the eC' 
fects of slander, he imagines it to be a voluntary agent: 


"No, 'tis slander; 
Whose edge is sharper than the sword ; whose tongue 
Outvenoms all the worms of Nile ; whose breath 
Rides on the posting winds, and doth belie 
All corners of the world, kings, queens, and states, 
Maids, matrons : nay, the secrets of the grave 
This viperous slander enters." — Oymbeline, Act HI., Sc. 4. 

The following fine example, carried perhaps as far as is 
allowable in prose, will show the spirit and grace which this 
figure, when well conducted, bestows upon ar discourse: 

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[The ShtIoi and Mahomet'' compared.] 

8. " Go to yonr naturai religion : lay before her Mahomet, 
aud his disciples, ari-ayed in ai-mor and blood, riding in tri- 
umph over the spoils of thousands who fell by his victorious 
sword. Show her the cities which he set in flames, the coun- 
Iries which he ravaged and destroyed, and the miserable dis- 
tress of all the inhabitants. When shs has visaed him in 
this scene, carry her into his retirement ; show A«r the proph- 
et's chamber ; bis concubineH and his wives ; and let her hear 
him allege revelation, and a divine commissiOD, to justify 
his adultery and lust. 

9. " When she is tired with this prospect, then show her 
the blessed Jesus, humble and meek, doing good to all the 
sons of men. Let her see him in his most retired privacies: 
let /ter/oUoio him to the mount, and hear hia devotions and 
supplications to God. Carry her to his table, to view his 
poor fare, and hear hie heavenly i^BcourBe. Let her attend 
him to the tribunal, and consider the patience with which he 
endured the scoffs and reproaches of his enemies. Lead^er 
to his cross ; let her viete him in the agony of death, and hear 
his last prayer for his persecutors : * Father, forgive them, 
for they know not what they do !' 

10. "When natural religion haa thus viewed both, ask hei' 
which is the Prophet of God 7 But her anstoer we have al- 
ready had, when she sav> part of this scene, through the eyes 
of the centurifin, who attended at the cross. By him s/ie 
spoke, and said, 'Truly, this man teas the Son of God"'' — 
Bishop Shk block. 

11. Personifications of this kind, though less common in 
prose than those of the first degree, are the very life and 
soul of poetry. We find them abundant in Homer, the fa- 
ther and prince of poeta, in whose writings war, peace, darts, 
spears, towns, rivers — every thing, in short, is glowing with 
life and action. The same is the case with Milton, and Shak- 
speare, and Thomson, and with all modem poets of eminence. 
The following from Milton, on the occasion of Eve's eating 
the forbidden fruit, is very striking and appropiiate : 

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12. "So saying, her rash hand in evil hour 

Forth reaching to the frnit, she plnck'd, she at« ; 
Sarthfeit the wound; and Natnic, from her Beat, 
Sighing through all her vorks, gave signs ofv>o 
That all was loHt." 

13. In the third and highest degree of this figure, common 
inanimate objecta are addressed as if alive, and Uatening to 
the speaker, — sometimes replying to him, — and, like sentient 
beings, shaiing his joys and sorrows. The first two degrees 
of this figure are employed in the language of descriptloD. 
The third, which is the language ofdirect address, and hence 
the boldest of ail rhetorical figures, is never to be attempted 
unless when the mind is in a state of violent agitation, — 
whether it be under the infiuenoe of the stronger passions — 
love, anger, and indignation, or of the plaintive and dispir- 
iting, such as grief, remorse, and melancholy. 

14, It is well known that all passions struggle for expres- 
sion, and, if they can find no other object, will, rather than 
be silent, pour themselves forth to woods, and rooks, and the 
most insensible things; especially if these be in any degree 
connected with, the causes and objects that have thrown Uie 
mind into this agitation. Milton affords us an exceedingly 
fine example of the third degree of this figure, in that mov- 
ing and tender address which Eve makes to Paradise just 
before she is compelled to leave it : 


15. "Oh! unexpected stroke, worse than of death J 
Must I thus leave thee, Paradise ! thus leave 
Thee, native soil, — these happy walks and shades, 
Fit haunt of gods ! where I had hope to spend 
Quiet, though sad, the respite of that day. 
Which must be mortal to us both ? O flowers' I 
That never will in other climate grow, 
My early visitation, and my last 



At ev'n, which I bred up with tender hand, 
From yoar first op'ning bads, and gave you names t 
Who now shall rear you to the eun, or rank 
Tour tribes, and water from th' ambrosial fount ?" 
Book ii,, ], 


16. From Pope we select an example in which Vice, per- 
sonified, is represented as a hideous monster; and on pa^e 
828 may be found another example of peraonifioation from 
the same author. 

"Vice is ft monslerof Bofiiehtfol mien'. 
As to be haled' needs bat to be seen' ; 
Tec seen too oft', familiaj with her ftce'. 
We first endure', then pity', then embrace'." 
■ Id tblB eitnet the words that are ased tlgurallTel j. In s patoaifitd team, ue put 
In ttallca. Tbe italics, therefore, have noUiIiig to do with emphssU. 
'How genersUjpniDoaaced Jfd'AoTTKt,' tormeTtj, Ma hom'et. 



FeraoDlOcatlan of tbe Second I>egree. 

1. Fhilobofhy is a goddess, whose head indeed ia in heav- 
en, but whose feet are upon earth ; she attempts more than 
she accomplishes, and proraiaes more than she performs: she 
can teach us to hear or read of the calamities of others with 
magnanimity, but it is religion only that can teach us to 
bear our own with resignation. 

PeraoDiacatlon of tbe Second Desree.— Stdhit Bmitil 

2. Truth is its handmaid", Fi-eedom is its chiIJ\ Peace is 
its companion', Safety walks in its steps'. Victory follows in 
its train' : it is the brightest emanation of the Gospel ; it is 
the greatest attribute of God. 

S. It is that centre around which human passions and in- 
terests turn : — and Justice, sitting on high, sees genius, and 

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power, and wealth, and birtb, revolving round her throne, 
while she teachea their paths, and marks out their orbits. 
She waras with a loud voice, and rules with a strong hand, 
and carries order and discipline into a world which, bat for 
her, would be a wild waste of passions. 

PereonlflCAtlua of tbe Tblrd Pcgree,— Buvra. 

4. Blow, blow, ye winds, with heavier gust 1 
And freeze, thoa bitter, biting frost ! 
Descend, ye chilly, smothering anowB ! 
Not all yonr rage, as now united, shows 

More hard unkindness, unrelenting" 

Vengeful malice, unrepenting, 
Than heaven-illumined man on brother man bestows, 

PareonlBcBUon orUie Third Oeeree.— SmKBCEiBE. 
CTha F.iuf, find the cold, bitter St,,, are here jwrBonified ; and then, bj w.r uf 
ElmUe, uns iimde to lllasiiiiW tbe keen, bttlng ■evsiity oC lagtatltude.] 

6. Blow", blow", thou winter wind' ; 

Thou art not so unkind 

As man's ingratitude : 
Thy tooth is not so keen. 
Because thou art not seen. 

Although thy bi-eath be rude. 

6. Freeze", freeze", thou bitter sky' ; 
Thou dost not bite so nigh 

As benefits forgot: 
Though thou the waters warp. 
Thy sting is not so sharp 

As friend remembered not. 


PereonllkaUon of tbe Thlid Deeree.— Suiiwiim. 

7. How many thousands of ray poorest subjects 

Are at this hour asleep" ! — Sleep' ! gentle Sleep' ! — 
Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee. 

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That thoa no more wilt ■weigh my eyelids down, 

And steep my senses in forgetfulness'' ? 

Why, rather, Sleep, Heat thou in smoky cribs, 

Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee. 

And hushed with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber, 

Than in the pei-fumed chambers of the great. 

Under the canopies of costly state, 

And lull'd with sounds of sweetest melody? 

8. thou dull god', why liest thou with the vile, 
In loathsome beds' ; and leav'st the kingly couch 
A watch-caae", or a common 'lamm bell^? 
Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast 
Seal up the ship-boy's eyes', and rook his brains 
In cradle of the rude imperiona surge''? 
Canst thou, O partial Sleep' ! give thy repose 
To the wot sea-boy in an hour so rude' ; 
And, in the calmest and most stillest" night, 
With all appliances and means to boot', 
Deny it to a king'' ? Then, happy low", lie down' ! 
Uneasy lies the head" that wears a crown. 

2d Part of King Henry IV., Act lit. Scene 1. 

■ A etrang flenn, tn which the klnglf conch <e likened to n witch-cue (ever dlft- 
tnrbed by the tLcklng of the watch), or lo s common alarum bell. 
" A grammaltcal taQtt,only eicueahle as a poellc license. 
* " H«iqir law".~(boea In lowly sltDatloiiB, whom he calls npon to lie down In quiet. 



Bunm Soane. 
[Sufun. Sosiu, ana of the moet elegant ofEngliBh poets, boni in London In 1T<!; 
died Id 13M, la the Hlb year of bla age. He presents a rare Instance of great wealili 
allied lo great talents, Dntlrlng Indnatry In literary pnrsnlts, and pnre morsla. 

In the following extract, Dot only Memory Itself, hot Time, Place, Thonght, Obd- 
Id*, Art, Science, Hope, Fancy. Virtue and Joy, Peace and Power, are petsooifled.l 

1. SwBST Memory I wafted by thy gentle gale. 
Oft up the stream of Time I turn my sail, 
To view the fairy haunts of long-lost honiis, 
Bless'd with tar greener shades, far fresher flowers. 



2. Ages and climes remote, to thee impart 
What charms in Grenius, and refinea in Art; 
Thee, in whose hand the keys of Science dwell, 
The pensive portress of her holy cell ; 
Whose constant vigils chase the chilling damp 
Oblivion steals upon her vestal-lamp. 

3. From thee, sweet Hope, her airy coloring draws ; 
And Fancy's flights are subject to thy laws. 
From thee that bosom-spring of rapture Sows, 
Which only Virtue" tranquil Virtue, tnowa. 

4. When Joy's bright sun has ahed his evening ray, 
And Hope's delusive meteors cease to play'; 
When clouds on clouds the smiling prospect close', 
Still through the gloom thy star serenely glows' ; 
Like yon fair orb, she gilds the brow of night 
With the wild magic of reflected light 

6. Hail, Memory, hail ! in thy exhaustless mine. 
From age to age unnumber'd treasures shine ! 
Thought, and her shadowy brood, thy call obey. 
And Place and Time are subject to thy sway ! 
Thy pleasures most we feel when most alone; — 
The only pleasures we can call oar own. 

6, Lighter than air, Hope's summer vinous die, 
If but a fleeting cloud obscure the sky; 
If but a beam of sober Reason play, 
Lo, Fancy's fdry frost-work melts away I 
But can the wiles of Art, the grasp of Power, 
Snatch the rich relics of a well-spent hour' ? 
These, when the trembling spirit wings her flight, 
Pour round her path a stream of living light; 
And gild those pure and perfect realms of rest, 
Where Virtue triumj^B, and her sons are bless'd I 

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Mndtftto.— Apoelrophe, ss described 1^ the old write™. Bj modern writers. 
BnC little difference between the higher tbime of the two.— i. Davld'B lament for hia 
snnAbulom. The descriplion by WIIIIb.— 9.4. The natDre of man.— cloetug wllh 
an apoUropbe.— B, S. Bntog; on latsseite. Oennine Apostrophe at its cloee.— T, 8. 
Oniaa'B Addrene to the moon. The clouds aod ttie stars pertauiaed.3 

1. Afostbophe 13 deecribed by the old writers ae a sud- 
den turning aside from the current of thought, to address 
an absent or deceased ;)ersow, aa if he were alive, or present; 
bnt by modem writers that kind of personification in which 
some great natural object is addressed, is also frequently call- 
ed by the same name. There is, indeed, but little difference 
between the apostrophe proper, and a direct address to Bucb 
inanimate objects as the Sun, the Mood, the.Ocean, etc., that 
are easily conceived of as being persons. 

2. One of the most etriting examples of genuine apostro- 
phe is that in which King David laments the death of his 
son Absalom. " And the king was much moved, and went 
up to the chamber over the gate, and wept ; and as he went, 
thus he said ; ' O my son Absalom ! my son, ray son Absa- 
lom ! would to God I had died for thee, O Absalom ! my son, 
my son.'" The poet Willis has described, with exceeding 
pathos, the scene in which David is supposed to have taken 
his last look of his erring but loved son, and the lamentation 
which be there nttercd. 

The following, which presents in striking contrast infidel 
philosophy and infidel benevolence on the one hand, and 
Christianity on the other, closes with an apostrophe. 


3. "The nature of man is the shoal on which all infidel 
philosophy, and, if it can be, all infidel benevolenoe, are 

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wrecked. These can not explain bitn. They mark con- 
trasts in him which they can not reconcila The great' and 
the little', the atrong' and the weak\ the divine' and the in- 
femar, they can not adjust. His origin they can not de- 
duce. Hia recovery they can not mediate. They may ex- 
plore all secrets, and master all difficulties but this. 

4. " Christianity alone makes it plain. Man is great', but 
fallen' ; is strong', but sinning' ; is divine', but debased' ; 
therefore is he spiritnally little, veak, infemaL Christiani- 
ty brings him back to spiritual greatness, strength, and di- 
vinity. It shows him all that he was, is, and shall be. It 
explains the intermediate stages and processes: it accounts 
for all. Man~ I taught by this religion', I can abhor thee, 
dread thee, reverence thee, bemoan thee, shun thee, flee thee ! 
But oh, fearful, mysterious being, I can not slight thee 1" — 
Ret. R. W. Hamilton. 

In the following are several distinct apostrophes: 


6. "Yon have now assembled within these celebrated 
walls, to perform the last duties of respect and love, on the 
birthday of your benefactor, beneath that roof which has 
reaoanded of old with the master voices of American re- 
nown. Listen, Americans, to the lessoDs which seem borne 
to us on the very air we breathe, while we perform these 
dutiful rites. 

6. "Ye winda that wafted the Pilgrims to the land of 
promise, Ian, in their childrena' hearts, the love of freedom ! 
Blood, which onr fathers shed, cry from the ground I Echo- 
ing arches of this renowned hall, whisper back the voieea of 
other days ! Glorious Washington, break the long silence 
of that votive canvas; speak, spoak, marble lips, teach us 
the love of liberty protected by law." — Edwabd Evkektt. 


1. " Daughter of Heaven, fair art thou ! the silence of thy 
face is pleasant. Thou comest forth in loveliness ; the atars 
attend thy blue steps in the east. The clouds rejoice in thy 
presence, O moon I and brighten their dark brown sides, 

K Google 


Who is like thee in heaven, daughter of the night ? The 
fitara are aehamed in thy presence, and turn aside thdr 
sparkling eyes. 

8. " Whither dost thou retire from thy course, when the 
darkness of thy countenance gro vs'^ ? Hast thou thy hall 
like Osaian'' ? Dwelleat thou in the shadow of grief' ? Have 
thy sisters fallen from heaven'' 7 and are they who rejoiced 
with thee at night no more'' P Yes, they have ftlten, fair 
light ; and often dost thou retire to mourn. But thou thy- 
self shalt, one night, fail, and leave thy blue path in heaven. 
The stars will then lift their heads : they, who in thy pres- 
ence were ashamed, will rejoice."* — Macphebsok. 



HmiT Knn Wsm. 

[Bcm KiUE Vatn, bora In Kottlnghiun, England, tn ITSSi d1«d In jaW, In biB 
twentj-Orsl jeu. To B elncera and ardent piety he added nnnaoal poetic genlns, 
Sreat lore of leamlng, and uncommon ardor In the pBrsolt of knowledge; bnthta 
•ppllcaHoii to Blndy was bo Intense Hat bie delicate constilnllon soon sank ooder 
It. See Byron's beantUal tiitanie to bis worth, page 11§. 

The following Ode to Dtoappolntmenl— the disappointment of all the poet's cber- 
Isbed eartWy hopee— lella with what Chriatlan philosophy and realgnstion he jlald- 
ed np his spirit to the fall Destroyer.] 

1, Come\ Disappointment', come' ! 

Not in thy terrors clad' ; 
Come in thy meekest, saddest guise' ; 
Thy chastening rod but terrifies 
The restless' and the bad. 
But I recline 
Beneath thy shrine. 
And, round my brow resigu'djUiypeJweful cjpress twine. 

2. "niongh Fancy flies away 

Before thy hollow tread, 
Tet Meditation, in her cell, 
Hears, with faint eye, the lingering knell 

That tells her hopes are dead ; 

■ ii,Gi:H)(^Ie 


And though the tear 
By chance appear, 
Tet ahe can smilo, and say, "My all was not laid here." 

3. Coine\ Disappointment', come' 1 

Though from Hope's sammit hurl'd, 
Still, rigid Nurse', thou art forgiven, 
For thou severe wert sent from heaven 
To vean me from the world ; 
■ To turn my eye 
■From vanity, 
And point to eoeneB of bliss that never, never die. 

4. What is this passing scene'? 

A peevish April day I 
A little sun — a little nun, 
And then night sweeps along the pl«n, 
And all things fade away, 
Man (soon diecusa'd) 
Yields up his trust, 
And all his hopes and fears lie with him in the dust. 

6. Oh ! what is Beauty's power'? 
It floariBhefi~ and dies; 
Will the cold Earth its silence break 
To tell how soft, how smootii a cheek 
Beneath ite snr&ce lies' i 
Mute, mute is all 
O'er Beauty's &11 ; 
Her praise resonnds no more when mantled in her pall, 

6, The most beloved on eaitb 
Not long survives to-day ; 
So music past is obsolete — 
And yet 'twas sweet, 'twas paBsiug sweet, 
But now 'tis gone away. 
Thus does the shade 
In memory fade, 
Wtien in forsaken tomb the form beloved is laid. 


7. Then, since this world la v^n, 

And volatile, and fleet', 
Why should I lay np earthly joys. 
Where rust coirupts, and moth destrojB, 
And cares and sorrows eat' ? 
Why fly from ill 

With anxioas skill, [stilP ? 

When soon this hand will freeze, this throbbing heart be 

8. Come, Disappointment, come ! 

Thon art not stem to me : 
Sad monitresa ! I own thy sway: 
A votary sad in early day, 
I bend my knee to thee. 
From sun to sun 
My race will ran ; 
I only bow, and say, " My Glod, thy will be done !'' 

[Thill Ode to DlmpjKJiilnienl te, at > whole, a pereonlllcatlon of the ttlrd deeieB 
(p. no)— or, (ui apoilTophe, aa ihe Ulter 1b now gmerally doflned. Ii abonndB, how- 

pereoiiiasd in the Tib 

Show hi 


mlfled In the M Ter 

™rw. Whc 



referred tar Bipl 


m Beauty and 

permniaed In ttae 1 

the two lumOea la thi 

sethTeiBB. He 


"IT DOES MOVE."— Galileo. 

An axample of trae Apoetropbe.— 

[0*,U) mnatriobs pblloeopber, wa> bora atfloretice.Ital]', In IBM. In lOTR, 
Witb ■ Ieleticop« coDitrncled by blmselr, be discovered the four eatellitai of Jupiter, 
tlie pbases of VeDiu,etc. For aTowing bU belief In the Copernlcaa aystein— Ibat 
Ibe eaitli moves around the ann, etc.— he wai twice persecuted bj the Inqnlaltlon 
on a charge of heiear, and was compelled poblldT to atjore the STitem of Copeml- 
CDi. Alter haling repeated the fbrmala of shjnratlon prescidbed to blm. as he 
tomed awaj he repeated to himself, In ■ low tone, "It dwa move." Be was blind 
three jeaiB before his death. Be died In 1042.] 

1. Yaa\ noble Gralileo', thon art right*. "It D0E8 move'." 
Bigots may make thee recant it, but it moves, nevertheless. 
Yes, the earth moves^ and the planets move\ and the mighty 
waters move', and the great sweeping tides of air move', and 
the empires of men move', and the world of thought movea^ 

=^-h, Google 


ever onward and upward', to higher &cts and bolder theo- 
ries'. The Inquisition may seal thy lips, but they can no 
more etop the progresB of the great truths propounded by 
Copernicus, and demonstrated by thee, than they can stop 
the revolving earth. 

2. Close, now, venerable sage, that sightless, tearful eye : 
it has seen what man never before saw; it has seen enough. 
Hang up that poor little spy-glass ; it has done its work. 
Not Herschel nor Bosse has, comparatively, done more. 
Franciscans and Dominicans deride thy discoveries now; 
but the time will come when, from two hundred observato- 
ries in Europe aud America, the glorious artillery of science 
shall nightly assault the sides ; bat they ^lall gfun no con- 
quests in those glittering fields before which thine shall be 

■ forgotten. 

3. Rest in peace, great Columbus of the heavens; — like 
him, scorned, persecuted, broken-hearted 1 In other ages', 
in distant honispheres', when the votaries of science, with 
solemn acta of consecration, shall dedicate their stately edi- 
fices to the cause of knowledge and truth', thy name shall 
be mentioned with honor. 



Sometlmea c^«d Fenoutflcatlan of (he Third Dsgrea. 


1, Boll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean — roll I 
Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain ; 

Man marks the earth with ruin ; his control 
Stops with the shore : upon the watery plain 
The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remsuu 

A shaSow of man's ravage, save his own. 
When, for a moment, like a drop of rain. 

He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan. 

Without a grave, unknelled, uncoifined, and aoknown. 

2. And I have loved thee, Ocean ! and my joy 

Of youthful aportB was on thy breast to be 
Borne, like thy bubbles, onward : from a boy 

I wantoned with thy breakers: — they to me 

Were a delight; and if the freshening aea 
Made them a terror, 'twas a pleasing fear ; 

For I was, as it were, a child of thee. 
And trusted to thy billows far and near, 

And laid my hand upon thy mane — as I do here. 


Euiuro Eviutri'. 

3. RetQrn, thoa mysterious traveler, to the depths of the 
heavens, never again to be seen by the eyes of men now liv- 
ing'! Thou haat run thy race with glory': millions of eyes 
h;ive gazed upon thee with wonder — but they shall never 
look upon thee agmn'. Since thy last appearance in these 

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lower ekies', empires, languages, and races of men have 
passed away. 

4. Haply when, wheeling up again from the celestial 
abysses, thou art onoe more seen by the dwellers on earth', 
the languages we speak shall also' be forgotten", and science 
shall havered to the uttermost oomera of the earth. But 
even then His hand, that now marks out thy wondrous cir- 
cuit, shall still guide thy course i and then, as now, Heaper 
Kill smile at thy approach, and Arcturus, with his soiis, re- 
joice at thy coming. 


ITdouis Caupoell, one of tha gn&teBt 1;ilc poeta of ths age, born al Olaegow, 
ScutlsDd, in im L dledlalBM. At the sge of twentj-two be wcoM tbe " Pleasarea 
ofHiipei" and before hB had reached hla twe^l^^lxtb yeathe wrole"HuhenJlndeu" 
and " Locblel'B Wnniiug." He is oDe of tbe moat correct and elegaot of modem 
wiiten of verse.] 

1. UNTADiua Hope 1 when life's last embers bum, 
When soul to soul, and dust to dust return. 
Heaven, to thy charge, resigns the aw&I hour : 
Oht then thy kingdom comes.immortalpowerl 
What though each spark of earth-bom rapture fly 
The quivering lip, pale cheek, and closing eye ! 
Bright to the soni thy seraph hands convey 
The morning dream of life's eternal day — 
Then, then, the triumph and the trance begin. 
And all the phtenix spirit bums witUiu 1 

a. Oh ! deep enchanting prelude to repose, 
The dawn of bliss, the twilight of our woes 1 
Yet half I hear the panting spirit sigh, 
" It is a dread and awful thing to die 1" 
Ujsteiions worlds, nntraveled by the snn, 
WTiere time's far-wandering tide has never mn. 
From your unfathomed shades and viewless spheres 
A warning comes, unheard by other ears. 
'Tis heaven's commanding tmmpet, long and loud, ^ 

Like Siniu's thunder, pealing irom the cloud ! 

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LESSON xcn. 


[The R«gii1ii Dialogue : Fuicled DUlogne : and DewrlpiWe Dialogae.1 
Una2yifh~l. Wliat la Dialogae t DifficnltieB attending; It.—!. Wbat Is Sali]oqiI;t 
Wbat it la called In lbs diama. Ancient example of aolilaqn;.— S. How most dla- 
lognea and Bollloqnlea are Created. — 4 BeetexampleaofdlalogneandeolUoqnj. fix- 
ample ftmn ShakBpeare, — G. The acene tram Othello (see Nole).~{. UodiflcatloD at 
the dialogne. An example from Walter Scott— T, 8, 9. The scene at the meeting of 
Pill Jamea and Roderick Dhn.— 10. The/aneied dialogne. By whom often adopted. 
Ila UBE.— 11, IS. An example from Cicero's OraUan for Harseiii.^lS, 11, 16, t& An 
example fhnn hia Oration for Hllo.— IT. The asaamed dl^logqe In public addreeses. 
—18, IK. An example from Everett — SO, FalatafPs anliloqay upon Honor. — 21. Th« 
Coltoquial tyU at writing.— 22, 2S, 24, ^. Joseph's lnter?lew with hie brethren.- 2& 
AdTantages o( this (arm of the dialogue.} 

1. Dialogue, in Rhetoric, is a written conversation be- 
tween two or more persons. It is the most difficult kind of 
composition to execute well, whether written in prose or in 
verse, as it requires a writer of no ordinary genius to put 
himself in the place of the speakers, and imitate their char- 
acters and emotions in a natural and spirited manner. 

2. The Soliloquy, which is closely allied to the dialogue, 
is a talking, or discourse, of a person by himself— sometimes 
to himself, and sometimes to, or concerning, other objects, 
fancied or real, present or absent, but never to persons pres- 
ent. In the drama it is called a monologue,-^^ scene in 
which one person appears alone upon the stage, and solilo- 
quizes. An ancient example of written soliloquy is the Song 
of Solomon, — an allegorical poem, in which Solomon is alone 
the hero and the author. 

3. In most dialogues and soliloquies, the author, unable 
to represent passion and emotion as one who feels them, 
really tUserihes them with all the coolness of an unimpas- 
sioned spectator; and although he puts the words into the 
mouths of tlie speakers, it is quite the same as though he 

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epoke in person throughont the vhole. He givea as the 
form, withotit the spirit of conversation, and disgusts as by 
attempting something which he can not support. 

4. It is owing to this imperfection that our best works on 
rhetoric confine their examples, both of BuoccsBful dialogue 
and Boliloquy, mostly to Shakspeare, notwithstanding his 
many deviations from propriety. As a faithAil portrayer 
of nature, ^akspeare stands nnrivaled. As one example, 
in place of a thousand that might be given, let ua call up 
the scene in which, after Othello had killed Desdemona, 
Emilia, his wife's friend and confidant, fearing something 
wrong, from what she had learned of the villainy of lago, 
knocks at Othello's door, and craves admittance. See how 
the miud of Othello, torn by contending passions, vibrates 
between the thought of admitting her and the overwhelm- 
ing eeuse of Ms loss. 


5. .Mmilia. Oh t good, my lord, I would apeak a word 

with you. 
Othello, "Yes; 'tis Emilia; By-and-by*, — ""She's dead. 
'Tis like she cornea to apeak of Cassio's death: 
The noise was high. — ''Ha! no more movmg'? 
Still as the grave\ *Shall she come in' ? Were't good' ! 
I think" 'she stirs again' : — No. — «Wbat's the best' ? 
If she come in, she'll sure speak to my wife : 
"My wife' I my wife' ! what' wife' ? — I have no wife : 
Oh, insupportable ! Oh heavy hour !" 

6. There is a modification of the regular dialogue, in which 
the names of the speakers are omitted, and we are left to in- 
fer the changes of person from the context, and to express 
them in reading by corresponding changes of tone. Scott 
furnishes a good poetical example of this in his description 
of the meeting between Fitz James, the disguised Scottish 
king, and the Highland chieftain Roderick Dhii, who at the 

* He here onewen Emilia. ° Looking to lbs bodj orDeademona. ■ Reven- 
Ing to .amlliB. ' Taming to the bodj. ■ ReTertlnd lo ^mllm OEsln. ' Again 
tninliig to the bodf. ' He lUkB wb*t Is best to be done. ■ He Is Btrack witb 

(bo onacwLelmlng tboogbl of bis misery whicb Uie woril "wlte" forces upgn blm. 



time are unknown to each other. We give a brief extract 
from this, italicising the language of the king, the better to 
show the change of person. 


7. "Thy name and person I Saxon, stand!" 
"A stranger." — " What dost thou require' f" 
"Heat and a guide, and food, and fire. 

My Uf^a beset, my path is lost, 

7%e gale has chilled my litnbs loithfi'ost.'* 

"Art thou a friend to Roderick?" "■Jfo." 

"Thou darest not call thyself a foe^?" 

*^Idare/ to him and aU the band 

He brings to aid his mwd^-ous Aonrf." 

8. " Bold words 1 — but, though the beast of game 

The privilege of chase may claim, 
Though space and law the stag we lend 
Ere hound we slip, or bow we bend. 
Who ever asked where, how, or when 
The prowling fox was trapped and slain' ? 
Thus treacherous scouts — yet, snre, they lio 
Who say thou earnest a secret spy' !" 

9. " They do, by heaven / — Come Soderiek Dhu, 
And of his clan the boldest too, 

Andkt me but UU morning rest, 

I write the falsehood on their crest," 

" If, by the blaze, I mart aright, 

Thou bearest the belt and spur of knight' ?" 

" Then by these tokens mayest thou knoto 

Each proud of^/ressor's mortalfoe." 

" Enough, enough ; sit down and share 

A soldier's couch, a soldier's fere." 

Lady of the I/ilee, Canto ir. 

10. There is a kind of dialogue that may be called/onctetj 
dialogue, in which the author supposes certain questions 
asked and answered, with the assamed purpose of eliciting 


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truth thereby. This method is often adopted by Cicero, 
who UBeB it frequently in his orations, ae well as in hia phll- 
OBOphicat works. It is not bo difficult as the formal dia- 
logue, but it serves admirably to enliven discourse, by giv- 
ing occasional glimpses, as it were, of the drama of real life. 
In the oratory of the Bar it is often made av^Iable to place 
testimony in its strongest light. 

11. As an example of this imaginary and always irregular 
dialogue, we give, first, a brief extract from Cicero's ovation 
for Mnnena, italicizing the answers which the speaker gives 
to hia own questions. 


12. "But to return to what I proposed. Away with the 
name of Cato from this dispute; away with all authority, 
which, in a court of justice, ought to have no other infiuence 
than to save. Join issue with me upon the, crimes them- 
selves'. What is your charge', Cato' P What is to be tried'? 
What do you offer evidence' of? Do you impeach corrup- 
tion'"? Ido not d^end W. Do you blame me for defend- 
ing, by my pleading, what I punished by law'"? T answer, 
thai I punished corrv/ption' , and not innocence^'-: as to cor- 
ruption, if you please', I will go hand in hand with yourself 
in impeaching it." 

13. We take ^m Cicero still another example, which also 
shows the great use which he makes of the interrogation. It 
is found in his defense of Milo, to which we have before al- 
luded. His point is to prove that it was Clodlns who was 
attempting to waylay Milo. 

rv. FBOU Cicero's obatioh for tow. 

14. "Let us now consider the principal point, whether the 
place where they encountered was most favorable to Milo 
or to ClodiuB. But can there, oh judges, be any room for 
doubt, or for any further deliberation upon this point? It 
was near the estate of Clodius, lyhero at least a thousand 
able-bodied men were employed in his mad schemes of build- 

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iDg. Did Milo think he shoald have an advantage by at- 
tacking him from an eminence, and did he for this reason 
pitch upon that spot for the engagement'"? Or was he not 
rather eaipected in that place by his adversary', who hoped 
the situation would favor his assault'" ? 

15. "Were the affair to be represented only by painting, 
instead of being espressed by words, would it not even then 
clearly appear which was the traitor, and which was free 
from all mischievous designs, when the one was sitting in 
his chariot, muffled up in his cloak, with bis wife by bis 
aide ? Which of these circumstances was not a very great 
incumbrance — the dress, the chariot, or the companion? 
How could Milo have been worse equipped for an engage- 
ment than when he was wrapped up in a cloak', embarrassed 
with a chariot', and almost fettered by his wife' ? 

J6. "Observe Clodius, on the other hand, sallying out on 
a sudden irom his villa. For what reason in the evening'? 
Why at ao late an hour'? To what purpose, especially at 
this season' ? Se strikes off to Pompey's country house. 
Was it that he might see Fompey' ? Se knew that he was 
at Alsium. Was it to view his house'.? Se had been m it 
a thmtsand times'. Then what could he the motive of all 
this loitering and sauntering about'? WJiy, to gain time\ 
that he might be »ure to be on the spot when Milo came up.*' 

IV. The assumed dialogue is often met with in public ad- 
dresses and in sermons — especially where an auditor is sup- 
posed to converse with the speaker — and is a spirited form 
of raising objections for the purpose of answering them. 
Thus Mr. Everett, in a apeeoh upon the Bunker Hill Monu- 
ment, fancies an objeotor ai^uing against it. 


18. "Butlam met with the objection, 'TFAa((^0(«?wiffi(A« 
monument do'f and I ask, in return. What good does any'' 
thing do ? What ts' good ? Does any thing do any good' ? 
Does a railroad or a canal do good' ? ' Yes.' — And how' ? 
*It facilitates intercourse, opens markets, and increases the 
o the preceding qnetfes, and Is prononnced in a 

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weaUh of thi country.^ And what is Mw* good for' ? ^Wky, 
individuala proq>er\ and get ricA^.^ And what good does 
thalf do' ? Is mere wealth, as an ultimate end, — gold and 
silver, withont an inqniry as to their use, — are these a good'? 
* Certainly'' noV 

19. "Ishonldinsalt this audience by attempting to prove 
that a rich man, as such, is neither better nor happier than 
a poor one. ^Buty the objector says, ' a» men groto rich, they 
live' better^.' Is tbere any good in this, stopping here'? Is 
mere animal life — feeding, working, and sleeping like an ox 
— entitled to be called good' ? ' Certainly'' not'. Sut these 
improvementa increaee the pc^tukUton^J' — And what good 
does that' do'? Where is the good in counting tvelve 
millions instead of ax, of mere feeding, working, sleeping 
animals' ?" 

20. 'RiiB same character of asBamed dialogae is often met 
with in soliloquies, as in the following, wherein the cowardly 
Falstaff is disctissing to himself the point of honor — whether 
to run away from the battle or not. 


"What need I be bo forward with Death, that calls not on 
me' ? Well, 'tis no matter ; Honor pricks me on. But how 
if Honor prick me oS, when I come on' f how th§n" ? Can 
Honor set a leg"? iVb'. Or an arm'? iTo'. Or take away 
the grief of a wound? JVa Honor hath no skill in suigery 
then'? JVb. What w' Honor'? A word. What is that 
word 'honor?' Air, A trim reckoning'! — Who hath it? 
m IhcU died o' Wednesday, Doth he feel it ? iVb. Doth 
he hear it ? 2^0. la it insensible, then ? Tea, to the dead! 
But will it not live with the living? A'o. Why ? Detrac- 
tion teiU not suffer it. — Therefore Pll none of it ; Honor is a 
mere Bcutcheon, and bo ends my catechism." — First Part 
ofSenry IV., Act V., Scene 1. 

21. There is still another form of dial<^ue, commonly 
called the coSoquiai style of writing, which often employs 
both narration and description ; for In it the author narrates 
OT describes the conversation of the persons whom he intro- 
duces, not merely by telling what they said, in the third 

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pcrsODjbut by giving it in their own language. This method 
of writiog is probably more ancient than simple narration ; 
and we find it in the books of the Old Testament, which 
abotmd with speech^ with answers and replies, upon the 
most familiar subjects. It is very happily used in describ- 
ing the interview between Joseph and bis brethren. 


22. And Joseph sud unto his brethren, "Whence come 
ye'?" And they said, "From the land of Canaan\to buy 
food\" And Joseph said, " Ye are spies': to see the naked- 
ness of the land' ye are come." 

23. And they said unto him, " Nay, my lord, but to buy 
food are thy servants come. We are all one man's sons ; 
we are true men ; thy servants are no spies." And he said 
unto them, "Nay, but to see the nakedness of the land ye 
are oome." And they said, "Thy servants are twelve breth- 
ren, the eons of one man in the land of Canaan; and behold, 
the youngest is this day with our father, and one is not" 

24. And Joseph said unto them, "That is il that I spake 
unto you, saying, Te are spies. Hereby ye ehall be proved: 
By the life of Pharaoh, ye shall not go forth beuce except 
your youngest- brother come hither." 

25. At a subsequent interview, the conversation of Jo- 
seph's brethren among themselves is also given in the nar- 
rative form. 

And they said one to another, *' We are verily guilty con- 
cerning our brother, in that we saw the anguish of his soul, 
when he besought us, and we would not hear; therefore is 
this distress come upon us." And Reuben answered them, 
saying, " Spake I not unto you, saying, Do not sin ag^nst 
the child ; and ye would not hear*? Therefore, behold, also, 
his blood is required." 

26. This form of the dialogue, which holds a conspicuous 
place in the modem novel, allows the author to keep his 
readers informed of any thing concerning the characters, or 
the plot, which it may be desirable for them to know. It 
admits every variety of composition, and is especially adapt- 
ed to the delineation of the &miliat scenes ofevery-day lif^ 



LESSON xcnt 


From ths Maniuerlpt of tlie late Hr. Candls : byWiLi-uM Dodsub JntBOLS. 

[WiLLUK DocauB JiBBOU>, born In London, Engluid, in ISOS : died In ISST. At 
the age of teo be wu a midshipman, then & printer, end lutly he became a man or 
letten b; proteesioD. Ee wrote hnmoroas dramai, wee a frequent conlrlbntor tu 
the magazinfls, and a man of brilliant wit in eonveraation. Bia " Candle Lectdrea,'- 
from which tlie present leeeon is taken, flrat appeared In the London "FuDCh." 

Mr. Candle hating lent an acqnalnluice the famll; nmbrella, Hra. Candle leetared 
bim thereon. The supposed brief reeponeea of Mr. Candle, spoken in a low tone, are 
bei« inserted, italicized, and la bracheta. The piece la one that combines the scold- 
log leclnre, the asenmed dialogue, and the soliloqiVi and will be found a flue exer- 
dse Ibr a good reader.] 

1. That's the third nmbrella gone since Christmas [What 
1003 1 to do ?] What were you to do^ ? Why', let him go 
home in the rain, to he sure, Vm very certain there was 
nothing about Mm that could Bpoil' I [lie might have taken 
cold.l Take cold' I indeed' ! He doesn't look like one of 
the sort to tdke cold. Besides, he'd have better taken oold 
than taken our only nmbi'ella. 

2. Do you hear the rain, Mr. Candle' ? I say, do you hear 
the rain' ? And, as Fm alive, if it isn't St. Swlthin's' day ! 
Do yon hear it against the windows' ? NoDSense : you don't 
impose upon me : you can't be asleep with such a shower as 
that' ! Dou you hear it, I say' ? \Yes, I hear it.'\ Oh 1 yon 
do hear it ! Well, that's a pretty flood, I think, to last for 
six weeks' ; and no stirring all the time out of the house'. 
[Perhaps he'U retitrrC the •umbrella.'] Pooh 1 don't think me 
a fool, Mr. Caudle ; dont't insult me; he return the umbrel- 
la ! Any body would think yon were born yesterday. As 
if any body ever did retnm an umbrella ! 

3. There' : do you hear it' ? Worse' and worse'. Cats' 
and dogs' ! and for six weeks' ! always six weeks'' ; and no 
nmbrella! I should like to know how the children are to 
go to school to-morrow. They sha'n't go through such 
weather ; I am determined. No ; they shall stop at home, 
and never learn any thing {the blessed creatures !), sooner 
than go and get wet I Ajid when they grow up, I wonder 

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whom theyUl have to thank for knowing nothing; whom, 
indeed, but their father' ? People who can't feel for their 
own children ought never to be Others. 

4. But I know why you lent the umbrella. Oh yes; I 
know very well. I was going out to tea at dear mother's 
to-morrow, — you knew that ; and you did it on purpose. 
[Hike to have you go there-l Don't tell meM yon hate to 
have me go there, and take every mean advantage to hinder 
me. But don't you think it, Mr. Caudle. No.Bir; ifitcomes 
down in bneketa-full, Pll go all the more. \You can take a 
cab, then.^ No ; I won't have a cab I Where do you think 
the money's to come from' ? You've got nice high notions 
at that club of yours I 

&. A cab, indeed' I Cost me sixteen pence, at least — six- 
teen pence t two-and-eight pence : for there's back ag^n. 
Cabs, indeed ! I should like to know who's to pay for 'em ; 
for Fm sure you can't, if yon go on as you do, throwing 
away your property, and beggaring your children — buying 
umbrellas ! 

6. Do you hear the rain, Mr. Candle'? I say, do you hear 
it'? But I don't care — I'll go to mother's to-morrow — I 
will ; and, what's more. Til walk every step of the way — 
and you know that will give me my death. {TmHl he a 
foolish woman, fA«n.] Don't call me a foolish woman ; it's 
you that's the foolish man, 

7. Tou know I can't wear clogs ; and with no umbrella, 
the wet's sure to give me a cold — it always does. But what 
do yon care for that' ? Nothing at all. I may be laid up, 
for what you care, as I dare say I shall — and a pretty doc- 
tor's bill there'll be. I hope there will I It will teach you 
to lend your umbrella again. I shouldn't wonder if I 
caught my death ; yes : and that's what you lent the um- 
brella for. Of course. 

8. Nice clothes I shall get, too, traipsing through weather 
like this. My gown and bonnet will be spoiled quite. \Yo\i 
needn't wear them, then.^ Needn't wear 'em, then' ! Indeed, 
Mr. Caudle, I shaM wear 'em. No, sir ; I'm not going out a 
dowdy, to please you, or any body else. Gracious knows' ! 
it isn't often that I step over the threshold : indeed, I might 



as well be a slave at once ; better, I Bhonld say ; but vhen I 
do go out, Mr. Caadle, I choose to go as a lady. 

9. Oh, that rain — if it isn't enough to break in the win- 
dows I Ught I look forward with dread for to-monow. 
How I am to go to mother'a, Pm sure I can't telL But if I 
die, m do it. [Tbu can borrow an umfirefla.] No, sa. Til 
sot borrow an umbrella — no, and you sha'n't bvy one. Mr. 
Caudle, if you bring home auother umbrella, I'll throw it 
into the street Ha ! and it was only last week I had a new 
nozzle put on that umbrella. Vm. sore, if Td known ae much 
as I do now, it might have gone without one. Paying for 
new nozzles for other people to laugh at yoa ! 

10. Oh, it's all very well for you ; you can go to sleep. 
You've no thought of your poor, patient wife, and your own 
dear children ; you think of nothing bat lending umbrellas ! 
Men, indeed ! — call themselves lords of the creation ! pretty 
lords, when they can't even take care of an umbrella I 

11. I know that walk to-morrow will be the death of me. 
But that's what you want: then yon may go to your club, 
and do as you like; and then, nicely my poor, dear children 
will be used. But then, sir, then you'll be happy. [JVb, I 
ehallnot.'] Ob ! don't tell me ! IknowyouwiU: else you'd 
never have lent the umbrella ! Tou have to go on Thurs- 
day about that summons ; and, of course, you can't go. No, 
indeed : you don't go without the umbrella. Tou may lose 
the debt for what I care ; it won't be so bad as spoiling your 
clothes — better lose it: people deserve to lose debts who 
lend umbrellas 1 

12. And I should like to know how I am to go to mother's 
without the umbrella. [You said you toould goj] Oh t 
don't tell me that I said I would go ; that's nothing to do 
with it — nothing at all. She'll tjiink I'm neglecting ber; 
and the little money we're to have, we fiha'n't have at all — 
because we've no umbrella. The children too I (dear things !) 
they'll be sopping wet ; for they sha'n't stay at home ; they 
sha'n't lose tbeir learning; it's all their &ther will leave 
them, Pm sure. But they shaU go to school [Tou said 
they ahovidti^t go^ Don't tell me I said they ehouldr^t : you 
are so aggravating, Candle, you'd spoil the temper of an attr 



gd. Thoy shaM go to soliool : mark that; and if they get 
their deaths of cold, it's Dot my fault : /didn't lend the um- 

" Here," said Caudle, in his mannaoript, " I fell asleep, and 
dreamt that the sky was turned into green calico, with whale- 
bone ribs ; — that, in fact, the whole world revolved under a 
tremendone umbrella," 

■ SL SitttA'in. The BUbop of Winchester, tator to King Alfred, was csnonlied as 
Saint SHltbln. Beta said to hare wrougbt BUUf mlraclee, the most celebrated be- 
ings rsin of forty daja' contlimaacs. 

■ ItiiB popnlar eitpentltloa In BDgIaDd,lha£lfltndD onSt.SwtUilii'Bdsy (Jul; 
UMb) U Will laln Ibr fbrtT d^a thoreaflsr. 

LESSON xcrv. 


BatKapusi'B BanOtt, Act HI., Scene 1. 
tTbIs soHloqay of Hamlat Ih apokeawltli tbst BOlemnltj of manner, aikd beeomliig 
diiirneea of atterance, whicli a» eipreeidre of deep tlionght and medltaHoo.] 

1. To be — or not' to be 1 — that is the question: — 
Whether 'tia nobler in the mind to suffer 
The fitings and arrowa of outrageous fortune, 
Or to take arms i^ainst a sea of troubles, 

And, by opposing', end' them? — To die' — to sleep' — 
No more ! — and, by a sleep, to say we end 
The heartache, and the thousand natural shocks 
That flesh is heir to, — ^'tis a consammation 
Devoutly to be wished. 

2. To die', — to sleep', — 
To sleep' I — perchance" to dream 1 — ay, there's the 

For, in that sleep of death, what dream}/ may come'. 
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, 
Must give us pause. There's the respect' 
That makes calamity of so long life; 
For who would bear the whips and scoma of time'. 
The oppressor's wrong', the proud man's contumely'". 
The pangs of despisM love', the law's delay", 

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The insolence of office^ and the aparns 
That patient merit of the unworthy takes*, 
When he hunself might his qoietaB" make 
With a bare bodkin""? 

8- Who would fardels' bear, 

To groan and sweat under a weary life, 
But that the dread of something <0er^ death' — 
That nndisoover'd conntry, from whose bonrn* 
No traveler returns' ! — puzzles the will' ; 
And mfikes as rather bear those ills we have', 
Than fly to others that we know not of? 

4. Thus conscience does make cowards of us all*; 
And thus, the native hue of resolution 
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought ; 
And enterprises of great pith and moment, 
With this regard, their currents turn awry, 
And lose the name of action ! 

• Bibphjt', conaldwBtlon. ' CBn'tdi«lt, rndenen: scom. • Quir 
L«t, qidet ; flnal r«tL ' BOd'iih, uident t«m for a Bmsll dagE^K • FiB'r 
burdeni! packs. ' BOnui, bbandBr^ i limlls. 



A Farodr on the preceding Leuou. 
[A Pnm^ la a kind orpostlcil plBaaanlrr, tn wtilcli grare or lerf ana writlsKB an 
doaelr imitated in ennie Eiirla! antiJect, and Cbereb; made ladlCTDDi. It conilsta io 
tike larulDg otaomeltilDg eetiooBlDto btirltiqut; but the Imttstiixi is more close and 
exact than in ordlnaiy barleeqns cotnpocitloD. la the prcMiit leesoD, Bamlet'e ae- 
Tinng and admirable Botlloqnj on dtaih Is verr anccesaftillr parodied b; the bachelor. 

1. To wed — or not* to wed ! — that is the question : — 
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer 
The stings and arrows of ontn^eons love. 
Or to take arms against the pow'rful flame. 
And, by opposing', qaencb' it ? — ^To wed' — to marry'— 



No more I — and, b; a marriage, eay we end 
The heart-ache, and the tbouBand painful ahocks 
Love makefi us heir to, — 'tis a oonsammation 
Devoutly to be wish'd. 

2. To wed', — to marry', — 

To marry' ! — perchance" a scold! — ay, therms the rwJ'/— 

For, ill that wedded life, what'tffs' may come'. 

When we have shuffled off our single state. 

Must give us serious pause. There's the respect 

That makes the bachelors a nnm'rous race; 

For wbo would bear the dull, unsocial hours 

Spent by unmarried men — cheer'd by no smile, 

To ait like hermit at a lonely board 

In silence? — who would bear the cruel gibes* 

"With which the bachelor is daily teased, 

When he himself might end such heartfelt grie& 

By wedding some fair miud ? 

S. Oh 1 who would live, 

Yawning, and staring sadly in the fire, 
Till celibacy'' becomes a weary life, 
But that the dread of something q/Tler' wedlock' — 
That undiscover'd state from whose strong chains 
No captive can get free' ! — puzzles the will' ; 
And makes us rather choose those ills we have'. 
Than fly to others which a wife may bring' P 

4. Thus caution doe6 make bachelors of ns alP: 
And thus, our natural wish for matrimony 
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought; 
And love-adventures of great pith and moment, 
With this regard, tb^ currents turn awry', 
And mira the name of wedlock I 

• OiBi (JSba), •colT; eipresslao of rarcaetlc ecnrn. 

• Ciir.WAOt.sliielBllft: especlall)' ChMots bachelor. 

• Ai>Bi'(atOitoDiieddei in the moDg direction. 

by Google 


CJnalfttft,— 1. WhtX la Vlttoat The Book ot Revebtloi]. Clcera>« on of tblB 

figure.— i. The eitract.— B. Dr. CheeTer'a nee of Ma agare: Bunyan In prleon 

*. Cee of Vision In Iha deBcrlptlon of the BBglO.— 5. Uae In nemitlTe and deserip- 
llon, etc— «, T. Evarett'B deecriptlon of tho Tojage ot the Maytlower.— S,», 10, 11. 

Everett's dm of the apostrophs In the B£me conDectkni IS, 13. A portloa of tbs 

Aame sceae, aa pahiled bj Dr.-€heeTer. — 14. What thla flgnro of apeecb sappoaes, 
and on what lu effect depends.- U. Wbeu thla Ague will be a tallnce. Counier- 
lUted wHmth.J 

1. ViBiOH is a figure of speecli in which some past, future, 
absent, or fancied occurrence is represented as actually pass- 
ing, in vision, before our eyes. Thus the Book of Revelation 
is a description of a continued vision. When Cicero, in his 
fourth oration against the conspirator Catiline, after por- 
traying the horrors of the plot to hberate the prisoners, 
massacre the senators, and open the gates to Catiline, pic- 
tures forth the following future scene as a present reality, 
he makes use of this figure to inSame the imaginations of 
the senators and arouse them to action. 


2. "I seem to myself to behold this city, the ornament of 
the eaitb, and the capital of all nations, suddenly involved 
in one great conflagration, I see before me the slaughtered 
heaps of citizens lying unburied in the midst of their ruined 
country. The furious countenance of Cetbegus rises to my 
view, while with a savage joy he is triumphing in your mis- 

3. It is in the use of this figure that Dr. Cheever thus de- 
scribes Bunyan, when in prison, nearly two hundred years 

r:,,r.=^i by Google 


" And now it is evening. A rnde lamp glinuners darkly 
on the table, the tagged laces are laid aside, and Bunyaa, 
alone, is busy with his Bible, the concordance, and his pen, 
ink, and paper. He writes as thongh joy did make faim 
write. His pale, worn countenance is lighted with a fire, 
as if reflected from the radiant jasper walls of the Celestial 
City. He writes, and smiles, and clasps his hands, and looks 

npward, and blesses God for his goodness, and then again 
turns to his writing. The last you see of him for the night, 
he is alone, kneeling on the floor of his prison ; — he is alone', 
with God," 

4, For the description of absent objects, or of fancy scenes 
as present, we select the following from a discourse by Rev. 
Dr. Hopkins, of Williams Collega 


" See the e^le as he leaves his perch. He flaps his broad 
wing, and moves heavily. Slowly he lifts himself above the 
horizon till the inspiration of a freer air quickens him. Now 
there is new lightning in his eye, and new strength in his 


pioionB. See — how he moaDts I Now he is midway in the 
he&vens. Higher he rises — still higher. Now his broad 
circles are narrowing to a point — he is fading away in the 
deep bine. Now he is a speck. Now he is gone." 

5. This figure of vision, or ideal presence as it is some- 
times called; is often used with happy effect in narrative and 
description, where the object is to raise such lively and dis- 
tinct images as will give to past scenes a living reality. 
Thus Everett, in an oration on the Pilgrims, nses this figure 
in a sublime description of the tedious and perilous voyage 
of the Mayflower: 


6. "Methinks I see it now; that one solitary, adventurous 
vessel, freighted with the prospects of a future state, and 
borne across the unknown sea. I behold it pursuing, with 
a thousand misgivings, the uncertain, the tedious voyage. 
Snns rise and set, and weeks and months pass, and winter 
surprises them on the deep, but brings them not the sight 
of the wished-for shore. I see them now scantily supplied 
with provisions, crowded almost to suffocation in their ill- 
stored prison, delayed by calms, pursuing a circuitous route, 

' and now driven in fury before the raging tempest, on the 
high and giddy waves. 

7.,"The awful voice of the storm howls through the rig- 
ging. The laboring masts seem sti-aining from their base ; 
the dismal sound of the pumps is heard; the ship leaps, as 
it were, madly from billow to billow ; the ocean breaks, and 
settles with ingulfing fioods over the floating deck, and beats 
with deadening weight against the staggering vessel. I see 
them escaped firom these perils, pursuing their all but des- 
perate undertaking, and landed at last, after a five months' 
passage, on the ice-clad rocks of Plymouth — weak and weary 
from the voyage — pooriy armed, scantily provisioned, de- 
pending on the charity of their shipmaster for a draught 
of beer on board, drinking nothing but water on shore — 
without shelter — without means — surrounded by hostile 

8, Here closes this vivid description ; when the speaker. 

VISION. 239 

changing the scene, introdncee another figure, the apos- 
trophe, and oalle upon the "man of military science," and 
the " student of history," to foreleU the result : and while 
the speaker still rererts to the past reality as an adventure 
that must have failed, Ms hearers, knowing that it was not 
a failure, are thereby the more deeply impressed with the 
wonderful results that have sprang {rom beginnings so 
small and so adverse. 


9. " Shut now the volume of history, and tell me, on any 
principle of hnman probability, what shall be the &te of this 
handful of adventurers. Tell me, man of military science, 
in how many months they were all swept off by the thirty 
savage tribes enumerated within the early limits of New 
England f Tell me, politician, how long did this shadow 
of a colony, on which yonr conventions and treaties had not 
smiled, languish on the distant coast? 

10. "Student of history, compare for me the baffled pro- 
jects, the deserted settlements, the abandoned adventures 
of other times, and find the parallel of this. Was it the 
winter's storm, beating upon the houseless heads of women 
and children' ; was it hard labor and spare meals' ; was it 
disease' ; was it the tomahawk'; was it the deep malady of 
a blighted hope, a ruined enterprise, and a broken heart, 
aching, in its last moments, at the recollection of the loved 
and left beyond the sea'; was it some, or all of these united, 
that hurried this forsaken company to their melancholy 

11. "And is it possible that neither of these causes — that 
not all combined, were able to blast this bud of hope' ? Is 
it possible, that from a beginning so feeble, so frail, so wor- 
thy, not so much of admiration as of pity, there has gone 
forth a progress so steady', a growth so wonderful', a reality 
BO important', a promise yet to be fulfilled, so glorious' ?" 

12. A portion of the same scene described by Everett has 
been BO beautifully painted by Dr. Cheever, that we think 
the additional picture will not weary : 




"It U a lowering winter's, day: on a coast, rock-bound 
and perilous, sheeted with ice and snow, hovers a small vee- 
ael, worn and weary, like a bird with wet plumage, driven 
in a storm from its neat, and timidly seeking shelteF. It is 
the Mayflower thrown on the bosom of Winter. The very 
sea is freezing: the earth is as still as the grave, covered 
with snow, and as hard as iron ; there is no sign of a hnman 
habitation ; the deep forests have lost their foliage, and rise 
over the land like a shadowy congregation of skeletons. 

13. " Yet there is a band of human beings on board that 
weather-beaten vessel, and they have voluntarily come to 
this savage coast to spend the rest of their lives, and to die 
there. Eight thousand miles they have straggled across 
the ocean, from a laiid of plenty and comfort, Irom their 
own beloved country, from their homes, firesides, friends, to 
gather aromid an altar to God, in the winter, in the wilder- 
ness ! What does it all mean ? It marks, to a noble mind, 
the invaluable blessedness of~Ji-eedom to worship God." 

14. The figure of speech which we have been describing, 
most frequently combined with aoliloqny, and, in character, 
nearly approaching the apostrophe, supposes an uncommon- 
ly warm imagination on the part of the speaker or writer, 
and a degree of enthusiasm which carries him, in a manner, 
out of himself, causing him to see what he la describing : 
and if he can produce the same temporary illusion in his 
hearers or readers, the impression which he makes will be 
exceedingly vivid ; for sympathy is the most powerful of all 
|Hinciples in exciting emotion. 

15. But in proportion to the exceeding beauty and force 
of this figure when well executed, and when nature and 
passion speak through it, so will its failure be great when 
the attempt to awaken sympathy fails, — throwing ridicule 
npon the author, and leaving the reader or hearer more cool 
and uninterested than he was before. " When," says Dr. 
Blair, " we seek to counterfeit a warmth we do not feel, no 
figures will either supply the defect, or conceal the impos- 
ture." - 

=^-h, Google 


Described In Ihe Bgoie of Vicloo SrBON. 

[OtOKSE QoaDON Btbon (Lord BjroD), who occaptea a foremcKt rank uaong Bn- 
gllBbpoeU, was bora at Dover, England, Id 11%. He died at Mlssolongbl, Greece, 
In IBM, auhe earlj age of Ihlrtj-Bnen— While moat of bta poems exhibit a wou- 
dsrfiil power and splendor of langDBge. and ofteD portray the noblest virtues, sumo 
of tliem Bhov a moral depravity wtaicb no merit of langitage can redeem. Like By- 
ron'a character, hie poems vaciUaUi betweea the eitiemea uf good and evil.] 

1. 1 8BB before me the gladiator lie' : 

He leans upon his hand' : his manly hvow 
CoQsenta to death', but couqueis agony' ; 
And his drooped head sinks gradually low ; 
And through his side the last drops, ebbing slow 
From the red gash, fall heavy, one by one, 
Like the first of a thunder-shower; and now 
The arena swims around him — he is gone, [who won. 
Ere ceased the inhaman shout which hailed the wretch 

2. He heard itfhnt he heeded not: his eyes 
Were with hia heart, and that was far away : 
He recked not of the life he lost, nor prize. 
But where his rude hut by the Danube lay ; 
TAere were his young barbarians all at play. 
There was their Dacian mother; he, their sire, 
Butchered to make a Roman holiday; 

All this rushed with his blood. Shall he expire, 
And unavenged? Arise, ye Goths, and glut your ire. 

8, The firat of the above two verses is a description of 
what has been so well represented in one of the master- 
pieces of ancient scalpture, called The Dying Gladiator — a 
representation in which the unconscious marble has given 
immortality to the pangs of death. The same scene might 
also have been represented in painting, so that, in either 
case, we could see, in fancy, the dying man, as, leaning upon 
his hand, he " consents to death, but conquers agony." 

4. But neither the marble nor the canvas could ever have 


called up the Bcene depicted with such touching pathos in 
the second verse, so as to carry us away, with the thoughts 
of the dying man, to his rude home on the distant Danube. 
It required the poet of passion to turn the marble into man, 
and endow it with human affections. Herein is exemplified 
a power which the poetry of nature possesses, fer beyond 
that of the chisel of the sculptor or the pencil of the artist. 
— Adapted from Montqomekt. 

LESSON xcvm. 

Sodloqnj ■ndPeraonlAcMtan.— 8buipuu'« JfooitU, Act IL, Sc. 1. 

1. DuBiNO the reign of Duncan the Meek, king of Scot- 
land, there lived a powerful thane, or lord, named Macheth. 
The wicked wife of Macbeth plotted the murder of the ting, 
and, having supplied the guards with wine, till they were in- 
toxicated, she placed a d^ger in her husband's hand, and 
urged him to stab the sleeping Duncan. 

2. Groping his way through the darkness, to the bed of his 
victim, with the murderous weapon in his hand, he thought 
he saw another dagger in the ^r, with the handle toward 
him, and the blade smeared with blood ; but when he tried 
to grasp it it waa nothing but an airy phantasm, like most 
if not all visions — 

" A ftlse creation. 
Proceeding from the heat-oppressM brain." 

During the hesitation caused by this apparition, Sbakepeare 
represents Macbeth as soliloquizing thus: 

3. Is this a dagger which I see before me, [thee; — 
The handle toward my hand? Come, let me dutch 
Ihave thee not; and yet I see thee stilt 

Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible 

To feeling, as to sight? or art thon but 

A dagger of the mind ; a false creation. 

Proceeding from the heat-oppress6d brain ? 

I see thee yet, in form as palpable 

As this which I now draw. 

4. Thou marshall'st me the -way that I was going; 
And such an instimment I wae to use. 
Mine eyes are made the foola o' the other senses, 
Or else worth all the reet ; I see thee stilt ; 
And on thy blade, and dudgeon, gouts of blood, 
Which was not so before. — There's no such thing: 
It is the bloody business, which informs 
Thus to mine eyes. — Now o'er the one half world ' 
Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse 
The curtained sleep ; now witchcraft celebi-atos 
Pale Hecate's offerings ; and withered murder, 
Alarumed by his sentinel, the wolf, 
Whose howl's his watch, thus, with his stealthy pace, 
WithTarquin'sjavishing strides, toward his design 
Moves like a ghost. 

6. Thou sure and firm-set eai-th, 

Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear 
The very stones prate of my whereabout. 
And lake the present horror from the time. 
Which now suits with it. — Whiles I threat, he lives ; 
Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives. 


I go, and it is done; the bell invites me. [AieUrmgs. 
Hear it not, Duncan ; for it is a knell 
That eummons thee to heaven, or to helL 

6. Orercoming hia fear, he entered the king's apartment, 
and dispatched him with a single stroke of his dagger. 
Macbeth returned to his waiting and guilty wife, who took 
the bloody weapon, and placed it in the room of the king's 
servants where they slept, having first smeared their faces 
with the blood, that the murder might be laid to their oharg& 

7. When morning dawned, and the murder was discover- 
ed, Macbeth affected great grief, but so managed as to be 
proclaimed king of Scotland. But the usurper's reign was 
short, for he was slain by JIacduflF; and Malcolm, Duncan's 
son and Scotland's lawful king, ascended the throne, amid 
the acclamations of the nobles and people. 



BoBx into the world in ignorance, man is impelled by im- 
perious instinct to know. " Seek," whispere a voice in hia 
soul, "and thou shall find." He seeks, he observes, he in- 
quires. He ascends the mountain of knowledge — rugged, 
precipitous; he climbs with difficulty from crag to crag. 
On the topmost peak, in the clear evening of an intellectual 
life, he beholds, not the sterile boundaries of a universe ex- 
plored, but an ocean of knowledge yet to be traversed, a 
Pacific of truth stretching on and on into the deeps of eter- 

iL Newton's attainments, 
Newton declared, a short time before his death, " I do not 
know what I may appear to the world, but to myself I seem 
to have been only like a child playing on the seashore, and 
diverting myself in now and then finding a pebble, or a 
prettier shell than ordinary, while the great ocean of truth 
lay all undiscovered before me." 

,.=^1 by Google 

(JnoIsMfi.— 1. Why TepetiHim is generally to be aToiaed.— S. Cases In which it 
may be oaed wllh goad eSecL Biample.— 3. Beautiful eiampleB of repetition In 
VirelL— 4. Eiample from "Plerponfa Airs of Palestine."— S. Description of the Bi- 
ble.— 8, 7. A beautlfnl example ofthlsHgnre in one of CIceru'e Orations.— 8,9, IB. 
A pieaaant example of repetition from Milton.— 11, 18. An example from Herbert 
Spencer.- 13, 14, 16. An example ftom Daniel Webster.] 

1. As a general rule of composition, a repetition of the same 
words, or of the same meaning in different words, ia to be 
avoided, as tending to weaken the impression ; and especial- 
ly is the fault of redundancy an unpardonable one in narra- 
tion, and in didactic writings, the great ornament of wMch 
ia a concise and compi-ehensive style". 

2. But there are cases, nevertheless, in which repetition 
may be used with good effect, to give a dramatic air of truth 
to some theme of great magnitude, on which both author 
and reader love to dwell. Thus David, in his lament over 
Absalom, in the earnestness of his soul gives utterance to 
his grief, using again and again nearly the same words ; and 
our sympathy fondly indulges him in the repetition. "Oh 
my son Absalom ! my son, my son Absalom ! Would God I 
had died for thee, oh Absalom, my son, my son 1" 

3. Virgil uses this figure with much beauty, in the lamen- 
tation of Orpheus for his beloved En ryd'i ce : 


" TTiee', hie loved wife', along the lonely shores ; 
Thee', his loved'' wife', his mournful song deplores ; 
Thee', when the rising morning gives the light. 
Thee', when the world was overspread with night*." 

=^-h, Google 


And with poetic license the fond lover is represented as 
ooQtinaing his lament even in death : 

" Hie lait, laii itActT, his longoe, nuw cold in death', 
Still named fit rydi ee~ with parting breath' ; 
*Ah [ tost Ea rydi as' I' his spirit sighed, 
And all the rocks" Ea rydi ce~ replied''." — Gtargia, b. ir, 
4, In the following, from Pierpont's "Airs of Palestine," 
the repetition, instead of weakening the impression, gives it 
additional force and beauty : 


" Greece and her charms I leave for Palestine. 

There pnrer streams through happier valleys flow, 
' And sweeter flowers on boiler mountains blow. 

Ilove to hreathe where Grilead sheds her balm ; 

Ilove to walk on Jordan's banks of palm; . 

Hove to wet my foot in Hermon's dews ; 

Ilove the promptings of Isaiah's muse I 

In Carmel's holy grots I'll court repose, 
And deck my mossy couch with Sharon's deathless rose." 

6. The following is a specimen of repetition appropriate 
to the magnitude of the subject : 


" It is the book of the world's Creator", and the teorld's 
governor" ; the record of the world'a history', and the loorW* 
duty' ; of the world'a sin', and the KOrl<pg salvation' ; and it 
will endure while that tooT^ lasts', and continue to claim its 
present authority' as long as God's government over the 
present world amy continue'." 

6. There is a beautiful example of this figure in Cicero's 
second oration against Antony, which was composed soon 
after Csesar's death, when Antony was aiming at supremo 
power. The whole oration is a most bitter inveotive on the 
life of Antony, whom Cicero accuses of being the author of 
nearly all the evils which then distracted the repnblia Aft- 
er recapitulating the treasonable acts and designs of Antony, 
the orator thus proceeds : 


EEPETrriON. 247 


7. "As trees and plants necessai'lly arise from see^ so 
are you, Antony^, the seed of this most calamitons war. 
You moura, oh Romans 1 that three of your armies have 
heen slaughtered' ; — they were slaughtered by Antonp'', 
Yon lament the loss of yoar most Ulustrioua citizens' : — 
they were torn from you by Anto7iy'. The authority of the 
senate is deeply wounded' : — it is wounded by Antony'. In 
short, all the calamities we have ever since beheld (and what 
calamities have we not' beheld' ?), if we reason rightly, have 
been entirely owing to Antony^. Ab Helen was of TVoy, so 
the bane, the misery, the destruction of this state — ifl~^M- 

8. In the following, in which Eve is represented as ad- 
dressing Adam, the pleasant repetition, in the second verse, 
of the scenes mentioned in the first, doubly enforces the 
beauty of the sentiment. It is a great charm in Milton, 
that, whenever possible, he makes the reader a spectator 

, and listener, which gives a dramatic interest to the scene, 
far beyond that of mere narration. 


9. " With thee conversing', I forget all time' : 

All seaAns, and their change", all please alike. ■ 
Sweet is the breath of mom' ; her rising sweet', 
With charm of earliest birds' ; pleasant the sun. 
When first, on this delightful land, he spreads 
His orient beams on herbs, tree, fruit, and flower, 
Giist'ning with dew' ; fragrant the fertile earth 
After soft showers' ; and sweet the coming on 
Of grateful evening mild'; the silent night 
With this her solemn bird' ; and this fair moon, 
And these the gems of heaven', her starry train'. 

10. "But neither breath of morn, when she ascends 
With charm of earliest birds'; nor rising sun 
On this delightful land' ; nor herb, fmit, flower, 
Giist'ning with dew' ; nor fragrance after showers' ; 

r:,,r.=^i by Google 


Nor grateful eveoitig mild' ; nor silent night, 
With this her solemn bird' ; nor walk by moon, 
Or glittering etarligbt', without thee ie sweet'*." 

Paradise Lost, B. iv. 
11. Herbert Spencer, in an able educational article on 
"What. Knowledge is of most Worth?" gives additional 
force to the impression be wonld make, of the value of sci- 
ence^hy the frequent emphatic repetition of the word. 


12. "Thns to the question with which we set out — What 
knowledge is of moat worth ? — the uniform reply is — Sd- 

, etice\ This is the verdict on all the counta For direct 
self-preservation, or the maintenance of life and health, the 
all-important knowledge is — Science'. For that indirect self- 
preservation which we call gaining a livelihood, the knowl- 
edge of greatest value is — Science. For the due discharge 
of parental functions, the proper guidance is to be found 
only in — Science. For that interpretation of national life, 
past and present, without which the citizen can not rightly 
regulate his conduct, the indispensable key is — Science, 
Alike for the most perfect production and highest enjoy- 
ment of art in all its forms, the needful preparation is still 
— Science. And for purposes of discipline — intellectual, 
moral, religious — the most efficient study is, once more — 

HONUMBNT. — Vmxa. 

13. We come, as Americans, to mark a spot, which must 
forever be dear to us and our posterity. We wish, that 
whosoever, in all coming time, shall turn his eye hither, may 
behold that the place is not undistinguished, where the first 
great battle of the Revolntion was fought. We ui£«A, that 

' this structure may proclaim the magnitude and importance 
of that event, to every class and every age. We foieh, that 
infancy may leam the purpose of its erection from maternal 
lips, and that weary and withered age may behold it, and 
be solaced by the recollections which it suggests. 


14. We wish, that labor may look op licre, and be proad 
in the midst of its toil. We wish, that, in those days of dis- 
aster, which, as they come on all nations, must be expected 
to come on as also, desponding patriotism may tarn its eyes 
hitherward, and be assured that the foundations of our na- 
tional power still stand strong. We Ktah, that this column, 
rising toward heaven among the pointed spires of so many 
temples dedicated to God, may contribute also to produce, in 
all minds, a pious feeling of dependence and gratitude. 

15. We imA, finally, that the last object on the sight of 
him who leaves his native shore, and the first to gladden his 
who revisits it, may be something which shall remind him 
of the liberty and the glory of his country. Let it rise, till 
it meet the snn in his coming ; let the earliest light of the 
morning gild it, and parting day linger and play on its 

* The nee atmon woTdsthsn are neccwairlo Ezpteea Ideas, Is /iloniann; wfalle 
noedlcH repetkluu or tlie esme, or hfce ideas in different words, ts UnMo^. Ob- 
■sire kow oldectlonable, In tlie latler n»p«cl,ie tbe following: 

'• Tet mnch of the tieuty Is hSM lost in the trantltttion, which reqnins (bur Unci 



Repetition uid EUinlle.— SoHins. 

1. Hbab then my counsel ; hear the word divine : 
To every man give that which most he needs ; 
Do that which he can never do for you. 

2. Thus live yoa like the spring that gives you water. 
And like the grape that sheds for yon its blood, 
And like the rose that perfume sheds for you, 
And Hie the bread that satisfies yonr ne^, 



And Hke the cloud* that pour their rain for yon. 
And like the enn that shines so gladly for yon, 
And like the earth that bears you on her bosom, 
And like the dead who left their care for yon. 

3. ToQ can not teach the dead, nor bless the heavens, 
Nor bear the earth, nor give the sun more glory, 
Nor dffuda more rain ; you can not nourish bread, 
N^or give the rqse its fragrance, nor the vine 

Its sap, nor can you feed the waier-^pringa. 

4. And DOW, what were yon, if none did for you 
What you ne'er did and ne'er can do for them' ? 
For what can you return to Grod for all'? 
Your very spirit means Mia spirit — given' : 
Then like that spirit, freely, purely, truly, 
Divinely, do for every one yonr bestu 

Thus only can you live in righteousness. 
In heavenly peace, joyful, and free irom care; 
Thus will you live even as Sia spirit lives; 
Thus will you in his very kingdom dwell 

[ALmD TniKTtOK, the present poet-l«uraite of Xngliad, wu Iwni In 1S1D. Be 
to unlTeruU J ackDowledged to be the lliM or Bngllih poets, and is ■ thoTongh niu- 
tci of venrificatloB and tnelodT of dlcUon. Tor rnanj jttit put be hu nalded at 
Fulngfoid, In Ihs iBle at Wtgbt— 18T0. 

The followlUK P'ece nqnlree the senie kind of brlUIut momtMiDt In the raading 
of it u would be adepted Ui the eenllment If set to moBic The elMlog twn linen 
of each lerse, iFblcli are twice ripRitoIin Bnbatoace, are bo bftpp^an lUaBtrMloa of 
Ibe wnind and Ben<e combhied, that aRer euh ba^a-blut we ■Imoit nem to heu 
the echoee dying away in the dbConce.] 

1. Thb splendor falls on castle walls, 

And snowy summits old in story; 
The long light shakes across the lakes, 

And the wild cataract leaps in glory. 
Blow\ bugle', blow' t set the wild echoes flying; 
Blow", bugle'; — answer', echoes', — dying', dying", dying* I 

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EEPETrriON. 251 

2. Oh bark ! oh bear ! bow thin and clear, 

And thinner, clearer, farther going ! 
Oh sweet and far, from cliff and scar. 

The horns of Elf-land' faintly blowing ! 
Blow ! let aa bear the pnrple glens replying : 
Blow', bngle'; — answer', echoes', — dying', dying", dying' ! 

3. Oh love ! tfiey*' die ia yon rich sky ; 

T/ie^ faint on hill, or field, or river I 
Our ee/toea roll from soul to soul. 

And grow forever and forever. 
Blow', bugle', blow' 1 set the wild echoes flying ; 
And answer', echoes', answer', — dying', dying", dying' ! 

• £lf-i.uii>, an Imaf^DBij irlld and nioniitalnons region, wbeie elves and &ir1ea 
are aapposed to dwell. 

» " lHev," that IB, the tuple eclwtt, die away, while the echoes of our livt» grow 
Rmna and ttntya. Tble beantitul «entfineDt la a flne example or anUtheda. 



Coi. iBiio Biub 
[Dnriiig the dtecnulonB In the Biitlih FarUameDt Id the jeu lT«s on CDe subject 
of lailng Ameiica, Mr. Ctiariei Townahend, In charglaE the Americana wilh Ingrat- 
itude because they real eted taxation without repreeentatuMi, had epoken of them aa 
"cbUdren planted by ont care, nonriahed bj onr indnlgence, and protected by oot 
arma," etc Col. Btni, an eameet defender ot the colonlea, in the following lan- 
gnage Indignantly replied to [he charge of Ingratltnde. The ripttillim of the words 
of the opposing epeaker give to the reply great additional (brce.l 

1. SiB.Ihavelistenedtothehonorable member who spoke 
last, with astonishment. Has he forgotten the hiatory of the 
colonies, that he aska the question — "Will these Americans, 
children planted by out care, nourished by our indulgence, 
protected by mer arms, refuse ns their mite to relieve us of 
our burdens* ?" 

2. They planted by y6\sbI' care' ? No'! Tonr oppressions 
planted them in America. They fled from your tyranny, to 
a then uncultivated and inhospitable country, where they 
exposed themselves to almost all the hardships to which 
human nature is liable ; and, among others, to the cruelty 
of a savage foe, the most subtle, and, I will take upon me to 

r:,,r.=^i by Google 


say, the most formidable of any people upon the face of the 
eai'th ; and yet, animated by principles of true English lib- 
erty, they met all hardships with pleasure, compared with 
those they anffered in their native land, from the hands of 
those who should have been their friends. 

3. They nourished by youb'' indidgenoe' f They grew by 
your neglect of them. As soon as you began to care about 
them, that care was exei'cised in Bending persons to rule 
over them, in one department or another, who were, perhaps, 
the deputies of deputies to some members of this House, — 
sent to spy out their liberties, to misrepresent their aotions, 
and to prey upon them, — men whose behavior, on many oc- 
casions, has caused the blood of those sons of liberty to re- 
coil within them, — men promoted to the highest seats of 
justice, some of whom, to my knowledge, were glad, by go- 
ing to a foi-eign country, to escape being brought to the bar 
of a court of justice in their own. 

4. T\i(iY protected by touk" arms'? They have nobly taken 
up arms in your defense; have exerted a valor, amidst their 
constant and laborious industry, for the defense of a coua- . 
try whose frontier was drenched in blood, while its interior 

. yielded all its little savings to your emoluments. 

5. And, believe me — remember I this day told yon ao-^ 
that the same spirit of freedom which actuated that people 
at first will accompany them still. But prudence forbids 
me to say more. Heaven knows I do not, at this time, 
speak from motives of party heat; what I deliver are the 
genuine sentiments of my heart. 

6. However superior to me in genei-al knowledge and ex- 
perience the respectable body of this House may be, yet I 
claim to know more of America than most of you, having 
seen, and beep conversant with, that country. The people 
are, I believe, as truly loyal as any subjects the king has ; 
but they are a people jealous of their liberties, and who will 
vindicate them if ever they should be violated. 

■Tlie tone aHnmad in this repetition otihe langaoge ot anather la that of the 
Ironfcuny paiheOc. 

' Tba iTOTd pffur If to be prauovnced very erapbalicollj, with a blCI«r BatMral ez- 
preNluo. Sea Rnle XJ. 


LESSON cin. 


a repeat" in miuic ia common, and aa. Id eBTlj times, all poetrj wi 

. A i.Essoif in itBclf sublime, a lesson worth enshrining. 
Is this: "I take no note of Time, save when the sun is 


These motto words a dial bore: and Wisdom never 

preaches _ [teaches. 

To human hearts a better lore, than this short sentence 

Aa Life is aometimea bright and fair, and sometimes 

dark and lonely, [only. 

Let us forget its toil and care, and note its bright houra 

There is no grove on earth's broad chart, but has some 
bird to cheer it, [hear it ; 

So Hope sings on in every heart, although we may not 
And if, to-day, the heavy wind of sorrow is o'erpreasing, 
Perchance to-morrow's ann will bring the weary heart a 

=^-h, Google 


For lAfe ia aometimet bright and fair, and mmetimea 

dark and lonely, 
Thffn let's forget its toU and care, and note its bright 

hows only. 

3. We bid the joyoae momeDts haste, and then forget thelr 

glitter ; 
We taJ^e the cnp of life, and taste no portion bat the 

bitter : 
Bat we should teach our hearts to deem its sweetest 

drop the strongest, 
And pleasant hours should ever seem to linger round us 

For lAfe is aometimea bright and fair, and sometimes 

dark and lonely, 
Then lefa forget ita toU and care, and note ita bright 

hours only. 

4. The darkest shadows of the night are just before the 
morning ; 
Then let ns wait the coming light, all fancied phantoms 

And while we're floating down the tide of Time's &st 

ebbing river. 
Let's pluck the flowers that grace its aide, and thank the 
gracious Giver. 
Jbr Idfe is sometimes bright and fair, <md sometimea 

dark and lon^y. 
Then lefa forget ita toU and care, and note ita bright 


1. 2¥ain the children/ Their hearts are soft and plastic 
now — the springs of life are bubbling np in crystal fi-esh- 
ness and beauty — the sapling is straight and tender. 

2. 2¥ain the chiUb'err I and they nhall go forth, with the 



charm of winning ways, and the power of goodness to touch 
the wandering sonl, and turn the hearts of Bome of the dis- 
obedient to the wisdom of the just. 

3. TVam the chUdrerT/ for by-and-by they will go into 
thronged cities, and crowded marts; or they will emigrate 
to the Great West, or to Canada, or Australia, or New Zea- 
land ; and there they will take the nobler messages, and be 
" living epistles known and read of all men," 

4. Train the childrerT! they are to be the fathers, and 
masters, and guardians of the next generation; they will 
plow the land, and sell the corn, and build the ships, and 
write the books, and guide the destinies of a universe. 

5. Train the children~! then shall it be almost impossible 
for lost, and wretched, and perishing men to fling up wild 
arms in the mad vortex of passion, crying out, as in despair, 
" No man cared for my soul." 

6. TVain the children"/ and the vices will be shriveled op, 
the Church strengthened, the cause of God uplifted ; and 
those who have looked with sadness at the apathy and neg- 
lect of the past, shall shout with joy: "The little one baa 
already become a thousand, and the small one has become 
a great nation," 

7. Our hopes are in the children. Ah ! how many a hap- 
py mother, with dear children at her feet, has prayed in lan- 
guage like the following : 

" Oh, fairies, never leave ns ! 
Oh, still breathe mortal breath t 
Oh, not of one bereave us, 
Thou fear, whose name is Death ! 

8. These human blooms", oh let them 
Live on to summer here ; 

And not till winter fret them, 
Bid them to disappear ! 
Lord, leave them to caress ns. 
Through good, tbrengh ill to come", 
Still let the dear ones bless us~. 
These furies of our home." — Benhxxt. 

" r:,,r.=^ihyG00gle 


Unoiiisw— l.WbatUCKntoarf ForclWe periodB.— a. Why climai pleseea. What 
QalnUIJaa SRjv on thie anbjecL— 3. Climoi combined with repetition. — I. Ezaniple 
rrom ClMK^— 5. A second eiample from Cicero.— A. A hiebl; Impassioned cllnuki 
from DemostheDes.— T, Cbancler otibe Atiti-ClimaXf—iw eSecC, A flue eismple <d 
ahikspeara,— and ltd effect— 8. The eitracL— 9. Cnmblnsilon ofcliinn and anU- 
cl[mai,-4hB effect.— IIL A hesntiful iUoetratlon of the principle.— 11. Biplanatlon. 
— li.By wbomclimailB mnchnaed. CIcero'a ose of thlefignre. The perfection of 
climax.— 13. Qeneral principle to be obsecred lu the construction ofseutenceH. An 

1. Cliuax is a figure of Bpeech which constats in a grad- 
ual riae of one circumstance above another, each increasing 
in impoitance over the preceding, so that the strongest 
impression shall come last. The most forcible periods are 
arranged in this order. 

2. Thia arrangement of sentences, and of entire discourses 
also, very naturally pleswes; for in all things we love to 
ascend to what is more and more beautiful', more and more 
forcible', more-and more sublime'. This same principle was 
laid down by that celebrated rhetorician Quintilian, nearly 
1800 years ago, when he said, "Care must be taken that our 
compoaition shall not fall off, and that a weaker expression 
shall not follow one of more strength ; as if, after sacrilege', 
we should bring in theji^ ; or, having mentioned a robbery', 
we should subjoin petulance^. Sentences ought always to 
rise and grow." 

3. Sometimes a climax is so constructed that the last idea 
of the former member becomes the first of the latter, and BO 
on to the end of the series, combining with it rfpetition, as 
in the following example, in which Cicero describes the 
readiness with which Milo surrendered himself, after he had 
unfortunately killed Clodiua. 

4. " Nor did he surrender himself to the people only', but 


also to the senate^ ; not to the senate only', but likewise to 
the public forces' ; nor to theSe only', but also to the power 
of him to whom the senate had intrusted the whole com- 

5. Another example from Cicero carries this principle still 
farther : 

" What hope is there remaining of liberty', if, whatever 
is their?>fea«wre', it is law/ttlfor them to do'; if what is lavj- 
/ul for them to do', they are able to do' ; if what they are 
aftfe to do', they dare do' ; if what they dare do', they really 
execute'^; and if what they execute' is no w&y o^enaive to 
you' ?" 

6. The following highly impassioned climax, from the 
Athenian orator Demosthenes, is beautiful not only for the 
form of the expression, but for the nobleness of the senti- 
ment also : 

"In my affection to my country, you find me ever firm 
and invariable. Not the solemn demand of my person'; 
not the vengeance of the Amphictyonic Council, which they 
denounced' against me ; not the teiTor of their threaten- 
ings' ; not the flattery of their promises' ; no, nor the fiiry 
of those accui-sed wretches, whom they roused like wild 
beasts against me', could ever tear this affection from my 

7. An Anti-Olimax, which is a descent from great to lit- 
tle, has the effect to lower a subject, to the same extent that 
the climax elevates it, A fine example of this is found in 
Shakspearc's King Richard n., where the king, in a pathetic 
outburst of grief, by magnifying his humiliation on being 
compelled to yield to the demands of the banished Boling- 
broke, makes his diminished dignity appear still more di- 

8. "What must the king do now'*? Must he submit''? 

The king shall do it'. Must he be deposed' ? 
The king shall be contented' : must he lose 

The name of king' ? let it go'. 

I'll give my jewels' for a set of beads' ; 
^y gorgeous palace', for a hermitage'; 



My gay apparel', for an alms-man's gown' ; 
My figured goblets', for a diBh of wood^; 
My Bceptre", for a palmer's walking atafT ; 
My subjects', for a pair of carved aaints' ; 
And my iargij. kingdom , for a little grave' — 
A little, little grave' — an obscure grave''! 
Or, I'll be buried in the king's highway' — 
Some way of common trade, where subjects' feel 
May hourly trample on their sovereign's head\" 

9. Sometimes climax and anti-climax are combined, and a 
subject is magnified, that the descent to the mean and low- 
ly may seem the greater from the contrast; for when the 
mind is elevated by grand and lofty thoughts, the introduc- 
tion of thoughts of a depressing nature makes the fall great 
in proportion to the elevation. We have a beautiful illus- 
tration of this principle in the following : 

10. "The cloud-capp'd towers", the gorgeous palaces", 

The solemn temples", the great globe itself", 
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve, 
And, hke the baseless fabric of a vision. 
Leave not a rack behind : We are such stuff 
As dreams are made of, and our little life 
Is rounded with a sleep." 

Shakbpsake's Tempest, Act IV., Sc. I. 

11. Here, aft«r a succession of the most sublime imt^es 
baa carried the mind to a lofty pitch of elevation, it is sud- 
denly let down by the most humbling of all images — that 
of an utter dissolution of the earth and its inhabitants. 

12. Accomplished orators and rhetoricians, and many 
preachers of the Gospel, make frequent use of climax; but 
of all orators, whether of ancient or of modern times, Cicero 
is the most noted for bis exceeding care in the oratorical 
construction and nice^/frawA of his sentences. To this, his 
pompous manner naturally led him ; and in order to render 
the climax perfect, he makes both the sense and the sound 
rise together, with a very -magnificent swell. This is all 



very pleasing for a time ; yet it may be carried so far as to 
appear afiected, and then it becomes disagreeable. 

13. The general principle laid down by Quintilian, hoT- 
ever, is correct. In addition to the reasons for it before 
given, the shorter sentences shoald come first in order, be- 
cause they are thus the more easily pronounced, the better 
remembei'ed, and the most harmonious. Thus, to say, "We 
flatter ourselvea with the belief that we have forsaken our 
passions, when they have forsaken us," is not so agreeable 
as to end with the longest part of the proposition : " When 
our passions hare forsaken us, we flatter ourselves that we 
have forsaken them." 


IId tbe Unt aelecUon below tbere le ■ steady proKreB^Ion of ideas, in the order Ot 
cIIiDai, vltli enUrgtng vlewe, and iDcreaelng eleistioa of thongbl, dq tU, ftt the clone, 
our wwi^ riaea before ng w a vaet and splendid mouamsnt, " opoa whlcb the world 
miij gaze wltb admlratioD fotever."] 

I. OUB COITNTRT. — DiHin. Wewtki. 

1. Lbt the sacred obligations which have devolved on this 
generation, and on us, sink deep into our hearts. Those 
are daily dropping from among us who established our lib- 
erty and our government. The great trust now descends to 
new hands. Let us apply ourselves to that which is pre- 
sented to us, as our appropriate object. We can win no 
laiirels in a war for independence. Earlier and worthier 
hands have gathered them all. Nor are there places for us 
by the side of Solon, and Alfred, and other founders of states. 
Onr fathers have filled them. 

2. But there remains to us a great duty of defense and 
preservation ; and there is opened to ns, also, a noble pur- 
suit, to which the spirit of times strongly invites us. 
Our proper business is improvement. Let our age be the 
tige of improvement. In a day of peace, let us advance the 
arts of peace and the works of peace Let us develop the 
resources of our land, call forth its powers, build up its in- 


stitntions, promote all its gi-eat interests, and see whether 
we, also, in our day and generation, may not perform some- 
thing worthy to be remembered. 

8. Let as cultivate a true spirit of anion and harmony. In 
pnreaing the great objects which our condition points out to 
us, let us act under a settled conviction, and an babitaal feel- 
ing, that these twenty-four states are one country. Let our 
conceptions be enlarged to the circle of our duties. Let as 
extend our ideas over the whole of the vast field in which 
we arc called to act. Let our object be, our country, oar 
whole country, and nothing but our country. And, by the 
blessing of God, may that country itself become a vast and 
splendid monument, not of oppression and terror, but of 
wisdom, of peace, and of liberty, upon which the world may 
gaze with admiration forever. 

tin tbe next «el«clloii t tbiiDder-Btorm 1b deratibed In «ach ■ msnnn that m Irsce 
Its progresK (ram Ite BDiatl, dlet«nt begin n tog— spproacblng Dearer and neater— oo- 
tll, at tength, beaveD aad eartb seen conTnteed InoDegraud climax of ml n.j 

II. THE TnUNDEE-STOEM. — Tdokboh. 

1. "Tis listening fear and dumb amazement all, 
When, to the startled eye, the sudden glance 
Appears far south, eraptive through the cloud ; 
And following slower, in explosion fast, 

Tbe thander raises his tremendous voice. 

2. At first, heard solemn o'er the verge of heaven. 
The tempest growis ; but as it nearer comes. 
And rolls its awful burden on the wind. 

The lightnings flash a larger curve, and more 

The noise astounds ; till overhead a sheet 

Of livid flame discloses wide; then shuts, ^ 

And opens wider; shuts and opens, still 

Expansive, wrapping ether in a blaze : 

Follows the loosened aggravated roar. 

Enlarging, deepening, mingling; peal on peal 

Crashed horrible, convulsing heaven and earth. 

r:",,r.=^i by Google 


tAnalyri^—l.Ofwhat StyletreitB. Objects snd kIidb of A^xv nrapeech. Tn 
vbatnll tbat baebeeo said Is onl; prepsrstory.— i. Tbe obieci ot Ele^vtnct. What 
eloqucncB ]a not.— 3, Of what H Is tbe offepring. The man of dfep fceliiig. Who 
can uotbeeloqnenl. Affettation iuoralorj. A noted rule oftbo ancleiitK.--t. Why 
eloquenCB la a moie comprehensiTO term than orat-iry. Its trae basis. Wb»t the 
orator muat do.— fc The three kinds or degteea o( eloquence. The flrst, "t Ignent. 
Eiamplea of it. Whj its scope is a narrflw one.— «. A higher degree of It The 
aim of the speabBr. What this degree of eloquence ntnounis to.— T. The objecis, 
ends, and trae Idea of eloquence In (he highest degree.— 8. Imprnvemeut in el ■ 
quence. Who only become great orators. Tlie eumplo nf DemoalhenCB Of 
Cicero.- 9. The elder Pitt.EKrl of Chatham. The younger PitL— 10. Striking trails 
Id tbe character of Burke. What is said of the orator Fox 11. Anecdote oC Sheri- 
dan, after his UrM speech In the Honae of Commons. Byron's enlOEy of him..— 18. 
What Is said of lord Manefleld.] 

1. Wa have seen how stylk treats oicorrectneBa, precis- 
ion, and perapicnity of language ; and what qualities of it 
are adapted to nan'ation, deBcription, and inBtruction : wc 
have seen how Bimilf, and metaphor, apoBtrophe, personifi- 



cation, and other figures of speech, are adapted to arouse 
emotion, and adorn and enliveu style, and thus combine tho 
charms of ornament and depth of feeling with clearness and 
vigor of thought. But when all has been said that can be 
said on ttyle, the subject of language has not been exhaust- 
ed: we are then only prepared to ascend a step higher, and 
to examine the subjects upon which style is employed, — the 
greatest of which is" Eloqcknck. 

2. It ia easier to tell the object of eloquence, than briefly 
to define the term itself. The object of eloquence is to in- 
forni the mind, to convince the judgment, to move the feel- 
ings, to influence the conduct, to persuade to action ; and he 
who writes or speaks so as to adapt all his words most ef- 
fectually to these ends is the most eloquent man. Eloquence 
is no trick of speech ; it is not the mere tinsel of words ; it 
is not the art of varnishing weak arguments plausibly, or 
of speaking so as to please and tickle tfae ear. These are 
but counterfeits, and do not attun the end in view. 
■ 3. Genuine eloquence is always the ofi%pring of deep feel- 
ing. A man who feels deeply, who is moved by strong pas- 
sion, and who still acts under the influence of reason, utters 
loltier sentiments, conceives nobler designs, and exerts a far 
greater influence than he would otherwise be capable of 
Hence a skeptical man, a cold man, or a cunning man, whose 
sincenty is suspected, can not be eloquent; hence labored 
declamation, and affected ornaments of style, gesture, or 
pronunciation, fail of their object, because they are not the 
jiiithful language of passion. He who is not in earnest need 
not hope to persuade others. Hence the foundation of that 
just and noted rule of the ancients : " If you wish me to 
weep, you must first weep yourself" — or, as translated from 

" If yon wonld have ma weep, begin the atnun. 
Then I shall feel yonr aorro*» — feel yoiu: pain." 

4. Eloquence is a more comprehensive term than oratory; 
for it embraces eloquent writers M well as eloquent speaJc- 
ers; and there is room for eloquence in history, and in phi- 
losophy, as well as in orations; and whether the object bo 
to interest, to persuade, or to please. Its true basis is found 



in the nature of man ; for as man is an instninieiit moved by 
many different strings, the orator must play npon them all. 
Not only must he appeal to the reason to produce convic- 
tion', but he must paint to the fancy' ; he must touch the 
heart'; he mnst address himself to the passions': in fine, he 
must use all the arts of logic and persuasion of which be can 
avail himself in the use of language — written, spoken, or 

5. Having thus explained the nature of elocinence, it re- 
mains to distinguish the three kinds or degrees of it. The 
first, or lowest, is that ornamental kind of eloquence which 
aims only to shine — to amuse, to entertain, to please the 
hearers. Such is the eloquence of panegyrics, of inaugural 
orations, and of most of the formal addresses on public oc- 
casions. Noble thoughts and useful sentiments may be, and 
generally are, mingled with it ; but as it is not called fortli 
by any great or noble object, its scope is a narrow one, and 
there is danger that the art of the orator may be strained 
into ostentation. 

6. We advance a degree higher m the art, and the powers 
of the speaker are eierted, not merely to please', but also to 
inform", to instruct", to oonvinc«\ He aims, perhaps, to re- 
move prejudices^ ; he defines his position' ; he states his case 
with clearness'; he chooses the most proper arguments'; ar- 
ranges them in the best order' ; urges them with the great- 
est force', and leads captive the judgment by such an array 
of facts and arguments' as can not be gainsaid'. It is the 
mighty power of reason, employed with skill and eSeet. 

1. But we mnst advance farther still if we would rise to 
a conception of the highest attainments of the art. .True 
eloquence exerts a power beyond conviction, — a power by 
which we are deeply interested', agitated', and carried along 
with the speaker'; by which our passions are swayed at his 
will' ; by which the mind is roused and kindled', so that we 
enter into all his emotions' ; we love , we detest , we re- 
sent', as he inspires' us; and we are prompted to resolve, or 
to act, as he i^rects us. This latter is the tme idea of the 
Eloqvtnae of P<^iitdar Aasembliee. 

8. But, although eloquence is a high talent, requiring nat- 

n,<jr.=^-h, Google 


ural genius, it may not only be greatly improved by art, but 
it is believed that do one ever became a great orator with- 
out tfie most diligent application to study, with oratory in 
view. The timid, lisping Demosthenes, by study, persever- 
ing effort, and daily practice, brought himself to address, 
without embarrassment, and with complete auccess, the tur- 
bulent multitudes ofthe Athenian democracy. After Cicero 
had entered the Roman senate, he listened, and studied, and 
wrote upon rhetoric and oratory for seven years, before ho 
once ventured to raise hia voice in public. 

9. It is said that probably no other man of genius, since 
the days of Cicero, ever submitted to an amount of drudgery 
in elocutionary training equal to that perfoi'med by the elder 
Pitt — ^Earl of Chatham ; and that he spared no effort to add 
every thing that art could confer for his improvement as an- 
orator. Tiie whole soul of the younger Pitt, from boyhood, 
was absorbed in one idea — that of becoming a distinguished 
orator ; and when he heard, at the age of seven, that his fa- 
ther had been raised to the peerage, he exclaimed, " Then I 
must take his place in the House of Commons." His idea 
of becoming a great orator was based upon that other requi- 
site — profound and extensive knowledge. 

10. Habits of industry and perseverance in study were 
the most striking traits in the character of Bui'ke, the great 
philosophical orator of the English language : his whole life 
was one of the severest mental labor ; and he so disciplined 
his memory that it became a vast store-house of facts, prin- 
ciples, and illustrations, ready for use at a moment's calL 
It is said of Fox, that his love of argument was the most 
striking ti'ait of his character; and that, from boyhood, diV 
cussion formed the staple of all his thoughts. With such 
feelings, and with habits ofthe closest application to study, 
he rose, says Burke, " by slow degrees, to be the most brill- 
iant and accomplished debater the world ever saw." 

11. After Sheiidan had made his first speech in the House 
of Commons, he went into the gallery, and with much anxie- 
ty asked Woodfell, the reporter, what he thought of his first 
attempt. " I am sorry to say," replied Woodfall, " that I 
don't think this ia your line — you had better return to your 



former pnraaita." Sheridan rested hia head on his hand for 
some minutes, and then eiclMmed with vehemence, " It ia in 
me, and it shall come out of me." — And his was the voice 
which afterward, in the language of Byron, " shook the na- 

"Till vanquished senates trembled as thej pnusad." 
12. Percy, In his sketch of the Scotch jnri8t,Lord Mani- 
field, remarks, " It is yet the traditionary tale of the countrj 
that gave this great orator and lawyer birth, that almost in 
infancy he was acccustomed to declaim upon his native 
mountains, and repeat to the winds the most celebrated 
speeches of Demosthenes and Cicero, not only in their origi- 
nal text, hut in his own translations of them." 

LESSON cvm. 


KiouAniBBiHSLitSiiERtiiiiiwaBliom la Dublin inllM. He was earl; known u 
B dnmatlc writer, bol at tbe Bg:e ortventj-niae vas elected to Farlliment, and [or 
twi>^Tid-tblTt7 jean be pnnnsd a ipleadld parllamenlai? career, dnrins irhich be 
waa nnHrated in wit, and hid few equals In elaqaeoce. Yet this hlgbly gifted mnn, 
at one tims the pride of Bngland, died mleerably poor, and a iteticn to lotemper- 
anc»^a meluKholy example of brlUlant taleota aacrlflced to a lore of cUiiplaT and 
' CODTlvUI IndnlgeDce-l 

CWiLLUU Pitt, Heeand son of the great Earl of Cbatham, wse bom In ITEO. Bis 
btber spared no pains to cnlUvale bis talenta, and eapeclallj to give blm habits of 
•elf-pOBsessltm and of public speaking. Be waa brongb t into Parliament at the age 
oCtwenty-tbree. He was FrimsHbiiiler or England from ITSe till 1601, and again 
tmm leoi until bis death in ISOt. 

1. Mr. William Pnr, one of England's greatest orators 
and statesmen, coming into the ministry at the age of twenty- 
three, as Chancellor of the Exchequer, soon after undertook 
to put down Mr. Sheridan by a contemptuous allusion to the 
early theatrical pursuits of the latter. 

2. " No man," said he, " admires more than I do the abili- 
ties of that right honorable gentleman — the elegant sallies 
of his wit, the gay effusions of his fancy, his dramatic turns, 
and his epigrammatic point If they were reserved for the 
proper stage, they would no doubt receive the plaudits of 
the audience ; and it would be the fortune of the right hon- 
orable gentleman to exult in the applause of his ovin thea- 

=^-h, Google 


3. Mr. Sheridan, whose suavity of temper ever set at defi- 
ance all attempts to ruffle or discompose it, and who never 
for an Instatit lost either his presence of mind, his facility of 
expression, or his good-humor, replied to this insolent lan- 
guage with admirahle adroitness, in the following words: 

4. " On the particular sort of personality which the right 
honorable gentleman has thought proper to make nse of, I 
need not comment. The propriety, the taste, and the gen- 
tlemanly point of it, must be obvious to this House. But 
let me assure the right honorable gentleman that I do now, 
and will, at any time he chooses to repeat this sort of allu- 
sion, meet it with the most pei'fect good-hnmor. Nay, I 
will say more. Flattered and encouraged by the right hon- 
orable gentleman's panegyric on my talents, if I ever engage 
again in the composition he alludes to, I may be tempted to 
an act of presumption, and attempt an improvement on one 
of Ben Jonson's best characters, that of the Angry Boy, in 
the Alchemist." 

5. The effect of this allusion to a well-known character in 
one of Jonson's well-known plays, as applicable to Mr, Hit's 
youthfulness, was irresistible. The House was convulsed 
with laughter ; and Mr. Pitt came very near having the title 
of the Angry Boy fastened on him for the remainder of hia 

■ ".SMf4au«ii^wb»tft«aJr<,"u Mr. Btt spoke IL 


CEdhitnii Bdbkk, the eon oTan lileb attornsy, wab bom In Snblln, JannaiT l.ITBO: 
From earl; lite he was s mosl diligent student ; and It ia said of him that be vaa 
abmyt working mit (rirfiu of thimijla. Ufa Bsna; on the Babllme and Beantiral eulr 
eetabllBbed his reputation aa a man of genius and a doe writer. His first entraDca 
on political lire was at the age of thirty-one ; and Ave fears later being elected to 
Parliament, he made his maiden Bpeecb In oppoBitlon to the Stamp Act, for which 
he was highlj complimented bf Lord diBlhsm, the greateBl of English oraton. 
Both Ba a writer and as an orator Burke ranke among the first of modern times. 
Hia writings and speeclies are comprised In sixteen (olnmes octaTO. Be died In 

] . In the year 1 787, Warren Hastings, late Governor Gen- 
eral of India, was impeached by the English House of Com- 



mons for high crimes and misdemeanorB in his government 
of India; and in February, 1788, his trial began before the 
House ofLords, who held their sittings in Westminster HalL 
The leading manager of the impeachment was Mr. Burke, 
who was assisted by Fox and Sheridan, the former of whom 
Macaulay designates as the English Demosthenes, and the 
hitter the English Hy per'i deg''. 

2. Mr, Burke, whom Macaulay describes as being "in apt- 
itnde of comprehension and richness of imagination superior 
to every other orator ancient or modern," opened the case 
in a speech which lasted four days — a speech which has 
been characterized as the greatest intellectual eifort ever 
made before the Parliament of Great Britain. " With an 
exuberance of thought," says Macaulay, "and a splendor of 
diction which more than satisfied the highly raised expecta- 
tion of the audience, he described the character and institu- 
tions of the natives of India; recounted the circumstances 
in which the Asiatic empire of Britain had originated ; and 
Bet forth the constitution of the East India Comgany and 
of the English Presidencies. 

3. "Having thus attempted to communicate to his bearers 
an idea of Eastern society as vivid as that which existed in 
his own mind, he proceeded to arraign the administration 
of Hastings as systematically conducted in defiance of mo- 
rality and English law. The enei"gy and pathos of the great 
orator extorted expressions of uuwonted admiration even 
from the stem and hostile Chancellor; and, for a moment, 
seemed to pierce the resolute heart of the defendant him- 

4. On the third day of his speech, when he described the 
cmalties inflicted upon the natives by Debi Sing, one of Mr. 
Hastings's agents, it is recorded that "a convulsive shudder 
ran through the whole assembly," and that "his descriptions 
were more vivid, more harrowing, more horrific, than human 
utterance, on either fact or fancy, perhaps ever formed before. 
Mr. Burke himself was so much overpowered at one time that 
he dropped his head upon his hands, apd was unable to pro- 
ceed. The ladies in the galleries, unaccustomed to such dis- 

. plays of eloquence, were in a state of uncontrollable emotion. 


Handbercliieis were pulled out ; Bmelling-bottles were hand- 
ed Tonnd; by sterical sobs and soreams were beard ; and Mrs. 
Sberidan was carried oat in a fit." 

5. The wonderful power of tbe orator is ferther sbown in 
tbe fact tbat even Mr. Hastings himself, who, not having 
ordered these inflictions, bad always claimed that he was 
not involved in their gnilt, was utterly overwhelmed. In 
describing the scene afterward, he said, "For half an hoar I 
looked up at the orator in a revery of wonder, and actnally 
felt myself to be tbe dost culpable man on earth. Bnt at 
length I recurred to my own bosom, and there found a con- 
scionsneaa tbat consoled me under all I beard and all I anf- 

fl. Unfortnnately, we have no complete copy of tbb open- 
ing speech of Burke, for it was snch that no reporter conld 
adequately record it ; and Mr. Burke never wrote it out for 
pnbtication. We present here the closing periods only, as 
Macaulay sketches them, after the scene above described. 

1. "At length the orator concluded. Raising his voice ' 
till the old arches of Irish oat resounded — ' Therefore,' scud 
he, ' bath it with all confidence been ordered by the Com- 
mons of Great Britain, that I impeach Warren Hastings of 
high crimes and misdemeanors. I impeach him in the name 
of the Commons House of Parliament, whose trufit he has 
betrayed. I impeach him in tbe name of the English nation, 
whose ancient honor he has sullied. I impeach him in the 
name of the people of India, frhose rights he has trodden 
nnder foot, and whose country he has turned into a desert. 
Lastly, in tbe name of human nature itself, in the name of 
both sexes, in the name of every age, in the name of every 
rank, I impeach the common enemy and oppressor of all".' " 

8. The trial of Hastings, taken up in the House of Lords 
only in the intervals of other business, extended through a 
period of seven years ; and it was during the darkest period 
of the French Revolution, in June, 1794, when the British 
Empire itself was rocked by the contending passions tbat 
grew ont of that Revolution, that Mr. Burke made his clos- 
ing speech in this famous trial. The concluding part of his 
speech on that occasion, wherein he refers to the dangers 


vhich then threatened England, lias a grandeur and Boletn- 
nity every way worthy of the orator and the occasion. 

• Ugder the head of " the Eloqaeiice oT Popolar Anembllea" we miut Inelnde 
tboee Judicial ontlonB that are dellveied before the £Uielish Boiue of Lordi, and 
theSeosta of the United States, In caiee of trial h; Impescltment ThUB,iii the Im. 
portBDt trial of Haatlnge, managed by the Hanea of Commons, (ind orgaed before 
tbeHoniB of Lords and in the Impeachment of President Johnson, the natuta of 
the trials admitted a near approach to the eloduence of popntar aaaembllee. lu 
anch cawa the mlea of strict law are Inapplicable ; the appeals of the epeaker ore 
made to the general prlndplea ot the canBtttution i and the dedslon la Irosted, In a 
great measnre, to the equity and common sense of the judges, whose uombeia con- 
stItDte them a popular assembl]', although a lery Intelligent oi 

' An Alhenlan orator whom dceto places immediately afb 
almoM on the same level. 

• This veiM la one of the flneat eiamplea of ollmar. 

1. My Lords, I have done ! The part of the ComraonB is 
concluded 1 With a trembling hand, we consign the prod- 
uct of these long, ^oni/ labors to your charge. Take it/ Take 
n ] It is a sacred trust ! Kever before was a cause of such 
magnitude submitted to any human tribunal ! 

2. My Lords, at this awful close, in the name of the Com- 
mons, and snrroanded by them, I attest the retiring, I attest 
the advancing generations, between which, as a link in the 
chain of eternal order, we stand. We call this nation, we 
call this world to witness, that the Commons have shrunk 
from no labor; that we have been guilty of no prevarica- 
tions ; that we have made no compromise with crime ; that 
we have not feared any odium whatsoever, in the long war- 
&.te which we have carried on with the crimes, the vices, 
the exorbitant wealth, the enormous and overpowering in- 
fluence of Eastern corruption. 

3. A business which has so long occupied the councils and 
tribunals of Great Britain can not possibly be hurried over 
in the course of vulgar, trite, and transitory events. Noth- 
ing but some of those great Kevolutions that break the 
traditionary chain of human memory, and alter the very 
face of nature itself, can possibly obscure it. My Lords, we 
are all elevated to s degree of importance by it The mean- 


est of as will, by means of it, become more or less the oon- 
cem of posterity, 

4. My Lords, your House yet stands ; it stands, a great 
edifice; bat, let me say, it stands in the midst of ruins — in 
the midst of ruins that have been made by the greatest 
nloral earthquake that ever convulsed and shattered this 
globe of ours. My Lords, it has pleased ProvidHice to place 
us in that state, that we appear every moment to be on the 
verge of some great mntatiou. There is one thing, and oue 
thing only, that defies matation — that which existed before 
the world itself I mean JusncK ; that justice which, em- 
anating from the Divinity, has a place in the breast of ev- 
ery one of us, given us for our guide with regard to our- 
selves, and with regard to others ; and which will stand aft- 
er this globe is bnmed to ashes, our advocate or our accuser 
before the great Judge, when he comes to call upon us for 
the tenor of a well-spent life. 

5. My Lords, the Commons will share in every fate with 
your Lordships. There is nothing Binister which can hap- 
pen to you in which wa are not involved. And if it should 
BO happen that your Lordships, stripped of all the decorous 
distinctions of human society, should, by hands at once base 
and cruel, be led to those acafibids and machines of murder 
upon which great kings and glorious queens have shed their 
blood*, amid the prelates, the nobles, the magistrates who 
supported their thrones, may you in those moments feel that 
consolation which I am persuaded they felt in the critical 
moments of their dreadful agony. 

6. My Lords, if you must fall, may you so fall I But if 
you Stand — and stand I trust yon will, together with the 
fortunes of this ancient monarchy ; together with the an- 
cient laws and liberties of this great and illustrious king- 
dom — may yon stand as nnimpeacbed in honor as in power I 
May you stand, not as a substitute for virtue ; may yon 
stand, and long stand, the terror of tyrants ; may you stand, 
the refuge of afflicted nations; mayyou stand, a sacred tem- 
ple for the perpetual residence of inviolable Jubucb. 

r:,,r.=^i by Google 




1. Ik the impeachment aud trial of Hastmga, Mr. Burke 
assigned to Sheridan the management of the charge of plun- 
dering the friendly province of Oude, and the exposure of 
the cruelties inflicted on the native princes to extort from 
them their treasures. 

2. Id February, 1787, Mr. Sheridan addressed the House 
in favor of impeachment. His speech on this occasion was 
so pooriy reported that it is almost wholly lost ; hut accord- 
ing to the representations of all who heard it, it was an as- 
tonishing exhibition of eloquence. The whole assembly, at 
the conclusion, broke forth into expressions of tumultuous 
applause. Mr. Pitt followed in a few remarks, and concluded 
by saying that " an abler speech was probably never deliv- 

3. A motion was made to adjouni, that the House might 
have time to recover their calmness and " collect their rea- 
son;" and Mr, Stanhope, in seconding this motion, declared 
that he had come to the House preposseBsed in favor of Mr, 
Hastings, but that nothing less than a miracle could now 
prevent him from voting for impeachment. Twenty years 
later, Mr, Fox and Mr. Windham, two of the severest judges 
in England, spoke of this speech with undiminished admira- 
tion. The former declared it to be " the best speech ever 
made in the House of Commons;" and the latter, that it 
was "the greatest that had been delivered within the mem- 
ory of man." 

4. A carious anecdote concerning this speech is related 
by the historian Bissett. He says, "The late Mr. Logan, 
well known for his literary efforts, and author of a masterly 
defense of Mr. Hastings, went that day to the House, pre- 
possessed for the accused and against the accuser. At the 
expiration of the first hour he said to a inend, 'All this is 

r:,,r.=^i by Google 


declamatory assertion without proof;' when the eecondwas 
fiuished, ' This is a wonderful oration;' at the close of the 
third, 'Mr. Hastings has acted anjuatifiably ;* the fourth, 
' Mr. Hastings is a most atrocious criminal ;' and at last, 
'Of all the monsters of iniquity, the most enormous is War- 
ren Hastings', '" 

5. When, a year later, Mr. Sheridan had assigned to him, 
on the trial, the management of this same charge ag^st 
Hastings, the expectation of the public was wrought up to 
the highest pitch to hear him. During the four ^ ays on 
which he spoke, the great hall was crowded to suffocation ; 
and such was the eagerness to obtain seats, that fifty guineas 
were in some instances paid for a single ticket. All who 
heard his speech agreed in pronouncing it one of astonish- 
ing power ; but, like most of the speeches of that day, it was 
poorly reported. From what has been preserved, we give 
a couple of extracts, no doubt transmitted to us in a very 
imperfect state. 


1. "Driven from every other hold, the priaoner Is obliged 
to resort, as a justification of his enormities, to the stale pre- 
text of State Necessity! Of this last disguise it is my duty 
to strip him. 

2. "I will venture to say, my Lords, that no one instance 
of i-eal necessity can be adduced. The necessity which the 
prisoner alleges listens to whispers for the purpose of crimi- 
nation, and deals in rumor to prove Its own existence. Sia 
a State Necessity! No, my Lords, that imperial tyrant, 
genuine State NeceBgiU/, is yet a generous despot — and 
when he acts he ie bold in his demeanor, rapid in his decis- 
ions, though terrible in his grasp. What he does, my Lords, 
he dares avow ; and avowing, scorns any other justification 
than the high motives which placed the iron sceptre in his 

3. " Even when its rigors are suffered, its apology is also 
known ; and men learn to consider it in its true light, as a 
power which turns occasionally aside from just government, 
when its exercise is calculated to prevent greater evils than 



it ocoasioiiB. But s quibbling, prevarioating necessity, vbich 
tries to steal a pitiful justification from whispered accusa- 
tions and fabricated rumors — no, my Lords, that is no State 
Necessity ! Tear off the mask, aud you see coarse, vnlgar 
avarice lurking under the disguise. 

4. "The State Necessity of Mr. Hastings is a juggle. It 
is a being that prowls in the dark. It is to be traced in the 
rav^«s which it commits, bat never in benefits conferred or 
evils prevented. I can conceive justifiable occasions for the 
exercise even of outrage, where high public interests demand 
the sacrifice of private right. If any great man, in bearing 
the arms of his country — if any admiral, carrying the venge- 
ance and the glory of Britain to distant coasts, should be 
driven to some rash acts of violence, in oi'der, perhaps, to 
give food to those who are shedding their blood for their 
country — there is a State Necessity in such a case, grand, 
magnanimous, and all - commanding, which goes hand in 
hand with honor. 

5. "If any great general, defending some fortress, barren, 
perhaps, itself, but a pledge of the pride and power of Brit- 
ain^^if such a man, fixed like an imperial eagle on the sum- 
mit of a rock, should strip its sides of the verdure and foliage 
with which^t might be clothed, while covered on the top 
with that cloud from which he was pouring down his thun- 
ders on the foe^woutd he be brought by the House of Com- 
mons to your bar*? No, my Lords, never wonld his grate- 
ful and admiring countrymen think of questioning actions 
which, thongh accompanied by private wrong, yet were 
warranted by real necessity. But is the State Necessity 
which is pleaded by the prisoner, in defense of his conduct, 
of this description? I challenge him to produce a single 
instance in which any of his private acts were productive 
of public advantage, or averted impending evil" 


6. " If, my Lords, a stranger had at this time entered the 
province of Oude, ignorant of what had happened since the 
death of Sujah Dowlah — if, observing the wide and general 
desolation of fields unclothed and brown ; of v^etation 


n,<jr.=^-h, Google 


burned np and extinguished; of villages depopulated and 
in ruin ; of temples unroofed and perishing ; of reservoirs 
broken down and dry — this stranger should ask, 'What has 
thus laid waste tbia beantifal and opulent laad'; what mon- 
strous madness has ravaged it with wide-spread war^; what 
desolating foe'; what civil discords'; what disputed sucoes- 
eion'; what reli^oua zeal'; what &bled monster has stalked 
abroad, and, wiUi malice and mortfd enmity to man, with- 
ered by the grasp of death every growth of nature and hu- 
manity, all means of delight, and each original, dmple prin- 
ciple of bare existence'!' the answer would have been, not 
one of these oanses. 

7. " No wars have ravaged these lands and depopulated 
these villages 1 No desolating foreign foet No domesUu 
broils I No disputed saccession ! No religious zeal ! No 
poisonous monster ! No affliction of Providence, which, 
while it scourged us, cut off the sources of resascitatioD ! 
No I this damp of death is the mere effusion of British 
amity I We sink under the pressure of its support ! Wo 
writhe under its perfidious gripe ! It has embraced us with 
its protecting arms, and lo 1 these are the frnita of the alli< 

8. Ilie great success of Sheridan, in the p^ which he 
took in this famous trial, was celebrated by Byron in the 
following beautiful lines, the first verse of whi(^, however, 
is quite as applicable to Burke as to Sheridau. 


9. When the loud cry of trampled Hindostan 
Arose to Heaven, in ber appeal to man. 

His was the thunder — his the aven^ng rod — 
The wrath — the delegated voice of Ood, 
Which shook the nations through his lips, and blazed 
1111 vanquished senates trembled as tbey praised. 

10. While Eloquence — Wit — Poesy — and Mirtb, 
That humble harmonist of care on earth. 
Survive within our souls — while lives our sense 
Of pride in Merit's proud pre-eminence. 


Long shall we seek his likeness — ^long in vain, 
Aud turn to all of huu wMoh may remain, 
Sighing that Natore formed but one such man, 
And broke the die — ^in moulding Sheridan. 

■ A fins eiimple of climax. 

' Tliia glowing pktaie wu pTobftbly snggeelcd b; Sir Gilbert Slllot^ noble de- 
Knee uf the Rock of Gibraltar a tevi jean berore— In 1731. 

<> A mmaty, among the Qreeka, vw a monmnil tuDenil son^ niDg bf ■ dngle 
poreon. The aboTs monody waa spoken at Drair-Lane Theatre, Iiondoii, •ooo aJto 
the desth of Sheridan. 

LESSON cxn. 


1. Soon after the commencement of the trial, the Lords 
resolved tbat they would be guided by the rules of evi- 
dence which ai'e received in inferior courts of the realm. 
A great amount of testimony, which the managers had ex- 
pected to bring forward, was thereby excluded; and from 
that moment the acquittal of Hastings was assured. Add- 
ed to this, " all the members of the House of Lords," as Ma- 
eaulay says, " are politicians ; and there is hardly one among 
them whose vote, on an impeachment, may not be confident- 
ly predicted before a witness has been examined." When 
the final vote was taken, out of twenty-nine peel's who voted, 
only six declared him guilty. 

2. Bat if Mr. Burke failed in the impeachment, he succeed- 
ed in the mmn object which he had in view, that of laying 
open to the indignant gaze of the public the enormities 
practiced under the British government in India ; and his 
" long, long labors" in this cause became the means, though 
not so directly as he intended, of great and lasting benefits 
to a hundred and fifty millions of people. Of the true char- 
acter of Hastings, we have the following summing up in the 
language of Maoaulay: 

3. "Those who look on his character without favor or 
malevolence will pronounce that, in the two great elements 
of all social virtue — in respect for the rights of others, and 
in sympathy for their suderings — be was deficient. His 


principles were somewhat lai. His heart was somewhat 
Lard. But while we can not with truth describe him either 
as a righteous or as a merciful ruler, we can not regard 
without admiration the amplitude and fertility of his intel- 
lect — his rare talents for command, for administration, and 
for controversy — hia dauntless courage — his honorable pov- 
erty — hia fervent zeal for the interests of the state — bis no- 
ble eqnanimity, tried by both extremes of fortone, and never 
distnrbed by either." 

LESSON cxm. 



1. On the 19th of January, 1830, Mr. Robert T, Hayne, of 
South Carolina, in a speech delivered in the United States 
Senate on the subject of the Public Lands, which had been 
for some time under discuBsion, denounced the policy of the 
government in holding the public lands for sale, instead of 
giving them away to emigrants : be wished the government 
to have no source of permanent revenue, — regarding a full 
treaanry aa tending to consolidate the government and cor> 
rupt the people. 

2. In the course of bis remarks he chatted the Eastern 
States — and especially New England — with a narrow and 
selfiah policy ; — with endeavoring to restriun emigration to 
the West, and with a steady opposition to Western meaa- 
urea and Weatem interests ; and this aelfish New England 
policy he attributed to the " accnrsed tariff" on imported 

3. Mr. Webater, on the following day, replied to the speech 
of Mr. Hayne, taking exception to his views generally, and 
especially to those which deprecated the strengthening of 
the powers of the general government. Alluding to this 
part of the apeech of the gentleman from South Carolina^ 
Mr, Webster remarked: 

by Google 


4. "I wish to see do new powers drawn to the general 
governmetit ; but I confeaa I rejoice in whatever tends to 
strengthen the bond that unites as, and encourages the hope 
that onr Union may be perpetual. And, therefore, I can not 
bnt feel regret at the expression of each opinions as the gen- 
tlemau haa avowed, because I think their obvious tendency 
is to weaken the bond of our Union. 

6. "Iknow there are some persons in the part of the coun> 
try Irom which the honorable member comes, who habitual- 
ly speak of the Union in terms of indifference, or even of dis- 
paragement. The honorable member himself is not, I trust, 
and can never be, one of these. ' They significantly declare 
that it ie^time to calctdcUe the vahte of the Union/ and th^r 
aim seems to be to enumerate and to magnify all the evils, 
real and imaginary, which the government, under the Union, 

6. Alter deprecating and deploring the tone of thinking 
and acting indulged in by some Southern men, he continues: 

" I am a Unionist, and, in this senBe, a National Repub- 
lican. I would strengthen the ties that hold us together. 
Far, indeed, in my wishes — very far distant, bo the day, 
when our associated and fi-atemal stripes shall be severed 
asunder, and when that happy oonstellation under which 
we have risen to so much renown shail be broken up, and 
be seen sinking, star after star, into obscurity and night." 

7. On the subject of the tariff, Mr, Webster showed that 
it had been, from the beginning, more a Southern than an 
Eastern measare; that the renowned ordinance of 1787, 
which lies at the foundation of the prosperity of the North- 
western States, and which excluded slavery from that vast 
region, was drawn up by a citizen of Massachusetts, aud was 
a Nortfaem measure, carried by the Xorth, and by tha North 

8. To these remarks of Mr. Webster, Mr. Hayne repHed in 
s speech of considerable power, occupying two days in the 
delivery — a speech ranging through national and party pol- 
itics, sectional jealouBies, and the slavery question, in whioh 
the speaker took occasion to make a general assault on the 
opinions, politics, and parties of New England, but withont 

n,<jr.=^-h, Google 


even a remote allasioD to the pnblio lands — the sahject, 
□ominally, under discustrion. 

He also took occaeion to advance what he denominated 
" the SoQth Carolina doctrine" — the doctrine of State 
Rights, popuhirly known as the doctrine of " nnllification" 
— the right of the State Legislatures to interfere, whenever, 
in their judgment, the general government transcends its 
constitutional limits, and to arrest the operation of its law& 

We give, in the next Lesson, sufficient eztractB from the 
speech of Mr. Hayne to illustrate the bearings of Mr. Web- 
ster's great argument in reply. The oonstitutional ques- 
tions here discussed were at this time, as will be seen, al- 
ready threatening the most serious dangers to our country ; 
and thirty years later they culminated in what the South 
called " Civil War," and the North " The Great BebelUon." 



Jandabt 26, 1630. 

1. The honorable gentleman from Massachusetts, while 
he exonorates me personally from the chaise, intimates 
that there is a party in the country who are looking to dis- 
union. Sir, if the gentleman had stopped therfe, the accusa- 
tion would " have passed by me as the idle wind which I 
regard not." But when he goes on to give to his accusa- 
tion a local habitation and a name, by quoting the expres- 
sion of a distinguished citizen of South Carolina (Dr. Coop- 
er), "that it was time for the South to calculate the value 
of the Union," and, in the language of the bitterest sarcasm, 
adds, " surely then the Union can not last longer than Jnly, 
1831" — it is impossible to mistake either the allusion or tho 
object of the gentleman. 

2. Now, Mr. President, I call upon every one who hears 
me to bear witness that this controversy is not of my seek- 
ing. The Senate will do me the justice to remember, that 
at the time this -unprovoked and uncalied-for attack was 


made npon the Soath, not one word had been attared by me 
in disparagement ofNew England, nor had I made the most 
distant allusion either to the senator from Masaachasetts, 
or the state he represents. 

3. But, sir, that gentleman has thought praper, for pap 
poses best known to himself, to strike the South through 
me, the most unworthy of her servants. He has crossed 
the border, he has inraded the State of South Carolina, is 
makiog war upon her citizens, and endeavoring to over- 
throw her principles and her institutions. 

4. Sir, when the gentleman provokes me to such a con- 
flict, I meet him at the threshold. I will struggle while I 
have life for oar altars and our firesides ; and, if God gives 
me strengthjlwill drive back the invader discomfited. Nor 
shall I stop here. If the gentleman provokes the war, he 
shall have war. Sir, I will not stop at the border; I will 
carry the war into the enemies' territory, and not consent 
to lay down my arms until I shall have obtained "indem- 
nity for the past, and security for the future." 

5. It is with unfeigned reluctance, Mr. President, that I 
enter upon the performance of this part of my duty. I 
shrink almost instinctively from a course, however necessa- 
ry, which may have a tendency to escite sectional feelings 
and sectional jealousies. But, sir, the task has been forced 
npon me, and I proceed right onward to the performance of 
my duty; be the consequences what they may, the respon- 
sibility is with those' who have imposed upon me this ne- 

6. Mr. Hayne, niter an able and eloquent defeoBS of tlie conduct of the 
South duriag the War of the Berolution, and daiiiig the War of 1812 — 
after dwelling at len^h Dpon the opposition to the vbt bj the "peace 
party" of New England — reiterating the Soath Carolina doctrine of resiBt- 
snce to nnconBtitDtional lawi, and briefly treating of the tariff, of which the 
South complained, he dins closed his speech : 

7. Tbe Soatik is acting on a principle she has always held 
sacred — resistance to nnanthoiized taxation. These, sir, are 
the principles which indaoed the immortal Hampden to re- 
sist tbe payment of a tax of twenty shillings. Would 
twenty shillings have rained his fortune? No; but the 
payment of half twenty shillings, on the principle on which 


it was demanded, would have made him a slave. Sir, i^ in 
acting OQ these high motives — if, animated by that ardent 
love of liberty which has always been the most prominent 
trait in the Southern character — we should be hurried b&- 
yond the bounds of a cold and calculating prudence, who is 
there, with one noble tuid generous sentiment in his bosom, 
that would not be disposed, in the language of Burke, to ex- 
clum,"¥on must pardon something to the spirit of liberty." 


1, Neaslt half the members of the Senate had now par- 
ticipated in the discussion, and the speakei's had gradually 
changed the subject of debate from the question of the pub- 
lic lands to the many points in controversy between the 
North and the South. The speech of Mr. Hayne — earnest, 
fervid, and profuse in illustration — though much of a per- 
sonal character was mingled with it, created a deep impres- 
uon, and was thonght, at the time, to be overwhelming and 
unanswerable. It was regarded as the champion speech of 
the South ; and with no little anxiety the whole country 
awaited Mr. Webster's reply. 

2, On the morning of the day after Mr. Hayne had spoken, 
the Senate Chamber was so densely crowded, long before 
Mr, Webster arose to speak, that persons once in could nei- 
ther get out nor change their position. Yet the very great- 
ness of the hazard seemed to exhilarate the speaker. His 
spirits rose with the occasion. A confidence in bis own re- 
sources, springing from no vain estimate of his power, but 
the legitimate offspring of previous severe mental discipline, 
sustained and excited him. He had ganged his opponents, 
his subject, and himself. His exordium was no less fiircible 
than it-was strikingly beaatifiil and ^propriate. 


S. Mr. Frendent, when the mariner hai been tosMcl, for nuuf dnjt, in 

=^-h, Google 


thick weather, and on an mknonn lea, he natuntllr arailB himBeir of the 
firet pause in the atonn, the earliest glance of the son, lo lata hie lalitiide, 
and ascertain how far the elements have driven him from hia true courae. 
Let us imitate this pmdence, and, before we Soat farther on the waves of 
this debate, refer to the point from which we departed, that we maj at least 
be able to conjectore where we now are. I ask tor the reading of the reso- 
hition before the Senate. 

4. There wanted no 0101*6 to enchain the attention. If 
among his hearers there were those who afiected an indif- ' 
ference to hia glowing thoughts and fervent periods, the - 
difficult task was soon laid aside, and profound, undisguised, 
devoted attention followed. In the earlier part of his speech 
one of hie principal opponents seemed deeply engrossed in 
the cai'eful perusal of a newspaper he held before his face ; 
but this, on nearer approach, proved to be upsj'dis down. In 
truth, all, sooner or later, involnntarily, or in spite of them- 
selves, were wholly earned away by the eloquence of the 

6. The speech of Mr. Hayne necessarily led Mr. Webster 
through a very wide range of debate. ITie personalities of 
his opponent were to be referred to ; the charges upon the 
long -established poHcy of the government in reference to 
the publio lands were to be met and repelled ; Massachusetts 
was to be defended against the attack made npon her, and 
her historical record vindicated; the subjects involved in 
the constitutional rights of slavery, in the policy of internal 
improvements, and of the tariff, were to be examined anew ; 
and, finally, the true principles of the Constitution were to 
be defended against the South Carolina doctrine of Nullifi- 

In the following Lesson we give a small portion of Mr. 
Webster's remarks upon this latter subjecL 

JiNCiiiT 26-7, 1830, 
1. Am> now, Mr. President, let me run the honorable gen- 
tleman's doctrine a little into its practical application. Let 



ns look a little at hia probable modus operandi. If a thing 
can be done, an ingenious man can tell how it Is to be done. 

2. Now, I -wiah to be informed Aow this state interference 
IB to be put in practice without violence, bloodshed, and re- 
bellion. We Tvill take the existing case of the tariff law. 
South Carolina is said to have made up her opinion upon it. 
If we do not repeal it (as we probably shall not), she will 

^ then apply to the case the remedy of her doctrina She 
. will, we must suppose, pass a law of her Legislature declaim 
ing the several acts' of Congress, usually called the tariff 
laws, uuU and void, so far as they respect Soath Carolina, 
or the citizens thereof So far, all is a paper transaction, 
and easy enough. 

3. But the collector at Charleston is collecting the duties 
imposed by these tariff laws ; he, therefore, must be stopped. 
The collector will seize the goods if the tariffduties are not 
paid. The state authorities will undeitake their rescue: 
the marshal, with his posse, will come to the collector's aid, 
and here the contest begins. 

4. The militia of the state will be called out to snstidn 
the nullifying act. They will march, sir, under a vei-y gal- 
lant leader: for I believe the honorable member himself 
commands the militia of that part of the state. He will 
raise the NirLi.iFTiN& act on his standard, and spread it out 
as bis banner! It will have a preamble hearing that the 
tariff laws are palpable, deliberate, and dangerous violations 
of the Constitution ! He will proceed, with this banner fly- 
ing, to the Custom-house in Charleston : 

' ' All the while 
Sonorous metal blowing martial eoancU." 

6. Arrived at the Custom-house, he will tell the collector 
that he must collect no more duties nnder any of the tariff, 
laws. This he will be somewhat puzzled to say, by the way, 
with a grave countenance, considering what hand South Car- 
olina herself had in the tariff law of 1816. Bat, sir, the col- 
lector would, probably, not desist at his bidding. 

6. Here would ensue a pause : for they say that a certain 
stillness precedes the tempest. Before this military array 
should ^l on the Goatom-house, collector, clerks, and all, it 


is very probable some of thoBe composing it woold request, 
of their gallant commander-in-cbief, to be iDformed a little 
upon tbe point of law ; for tbey haye, doubtless, a jnst re- 
spect for hia opinions as a lawyer, as well as for his bravery 
as a soldier. 

7. They know he has read Blackstone and the Constitu- 
tion, as well as Tnrenne and Vauban. They would ast him, 
therefore, something conGerning their rights in this matter. 
They would inquire whether it was not somewhat dangerous 
to resist a law of the United Statea What would be the 
nature of their offense, they would wish to learn, if they, by 
military force and array, resisted the execution, in Carolina, 
of a law of the United States, and it should turn out, after 
all, that the law v>as constitutional? 

8. He would answer, of course, treason.* No lawyer could 
give any other answer. John Fries, he would tell them, had 
learned that some years ago. How, then, they would ask, 
do you propose to defend us? We are not afraid of bullets, 
but treason has a way of taking people off that we do not 
much relish. How do you propose to defend us? "Look 
at my floating banuer," he would reply; "see there the »wt 
Ufying law /" 

9. Is it your opinion, gallant commander, they would then 
say, that, if we should be indicted for treason, that same 
floating banner of yours would make a goo4 plea in bar ? 
"South Carolina is a sovereign state," be would reply. That 
is true; but would the judge admit our plea? "These tariff 
laws," he would repeat, " are unconstitutional — palpably, de- 
liberately, dangerously." That all may be so ; but if the 
tiibunals should not happen to be of thaC opinion, shall we 
swing for it? We are ready to die for onr country; but it 
is rather an awkward business, this dying without touching 
the ground I After all, that is a sort of Jtemp tax, worse 
than any part of the tariff. 

10. The honorable gentleman wonld be in a dilemma like 
that of another great general: he would have a knot before 
him which he could not untie. He must cut it with his 
sword : he must say to his followers. Defend yourselves 
with your bayonets ! — and this is loar—civtL wab. 




Hk Peronlian. From UBich's Remlntocencoa oT Congrese. 

1. No one who was not present can onderatand the ex- 
<atement of the scene. No one who was can give an adt.- 
qnate description of it. No word-painting can convey t)ie 
deep, intense fnthusiasm, the reverential attention, of thut 
vast assembly, nor limner transfer to canvas their earnest, 
eager, awestruck countenances. Though language were as 
subtile and flexible as thought, it still would be impossible 
to represent the full idea of the scene. There is something 
intangible in an emotion which can not be transferred. The 
nicer shades of feeling elude pursuit. Every description, 
therefore, of the occasion seems to the narrator himself most 
tamfl^ spiritless, unjust. 

2. Much of the instantaneous effect of the speech arose, of 
course, &om the orator's delivery — the tones of his voice, his 
«o^nten&noe, and manner. These die mostly with the occa- 
mon that calls them forth : the impression is lost in the at- 
tempt at transmission from one mind to another. They can 
only be described in general terms. " Of the effectiveness 
of Mr. Webat(jr's manner in many parts," says Mr. Everett, 
"it would be in vain to attempt to give any one not present 
the i^ntest idea. It has been my fortune to hear some of 
the ablest speeches of the greatest living orators on both 
sides of the water, but I must coiifess I never heard any 
thing else which so completely realized my conception of 
what Demosthenes was when he delivered the Oration for 
the Crown." 

3. The exulting rush of feeling with which he ntteredthe 
now famous peroration of that speech, threw a glow "over his 
countenance like inspiration. Eye, brow, each feature, every 
line of the face, seemed touched as with a celestial fire. The 
swell and roll of his voice struck upon the ears of the spell- 
bound audience, in deep and melodious cadence, as waves 
upon the shore of the " iUr resounding" sea. Hie Miltonio 



grandeur ofhis words was the fit expression of his thought, 
luid raised his he&rera up to his theme. His voice, exerted 
to its utmost power, penetrated eveiy recess or comer of 
the Senate — penetrated even the anterooms and atairwafs, 
as he pronounced, in deepest tones of pathos, these words 
of solemn significance : 


4. "I have not allowed myself, eii-, to look beyond the 
Union, to see what might lie hidden in the dark recess be- 
hind. I have not coolly weighed th(i chances of preserving 
liberty when the bonds that unite us together shall be 
broken asunder. 

5. "I have not accustomed myself to hang over the preci- 
pice of disunion, to see whether, with my short sight, I can 
fathom the depth of the abyss below ; nor could I regard 
him as a safe counselor in the affairs of this government 
whose thoughts should be mainly bent on considering, not 
how the Union should be best preserved, but how tolerable 
might be the condition of the people when it shall be broken 
up and destroyed. 

6. " While the Union lasts we have high, exciting, grafi- 
iying prospects spread out before us for us and our children. 
Beyond that, I seek not to penetrate the veil. God grant 
that, in my day, at least, that curtain may not rise. God 
grant that, on my vision, never may be opened what lies 
behind. When my eyes shall be tnmed to behold, for the 
last time, the sun in heaven, may I not see him shining on 
the broken and dishonored fragments of a once glorious 
Union; on states dissevered, discordant, belligerent; on a 
land rent with civil fends, or drenched, it may be, in frater- 
nal blood [ 

7. " Ijet their last feeble and lingering glance rather be- 
hold the gorgeous ensign Of the republic, now known and 
honored thronghont the earth, still full high advanced, its 
arms and trophies streaming in their original lustre, not a 
stripe erased or polluted, nor a single star obscured, bearing 
for its motto no snch miserable interrogatory as. What is 
aU this worth? nor those other words of delusion and folly, , 


Liberty first, and Union afterward ; bnt every where, spread 
all over in characters of living light, blazing on all its ample 
folds, as they float over the sea and over the land, and in 
every wind nsder the whole heavens, that other sentiment, 
dear to every true American heart — ^Liberty andVmon, now 
and forever, one and inseparable." 


1. Ihaginb to yonrselves a DemoHthenes addressing the 
most ilioBtrions assembly in the world upon a point whereon 
the iate of the most illastiious pf nations depended. How 
awfnl snch a meeting ! how vast the subject 1 And yet 
the augustnesa of the assembly ia lost in the dignity of the 
orator, and the importance of the subject is for a while su- 
perseded by admiration for hia talents. 

2. With what strength of argument, with what powers of 
the fancy, with what emotions of the heart, does he assault 
and subjugate' the whole man, and at once captivate his 
reason, his imagination, and hia paadons 1 Xot a faculty 
that he possesses bnt is here exerted to its highest pitch. 
All his internal powers are at woi^; all his external testify 
their energies. 

8. Within, the memory, the fancy, the judgment, the pas- 
sions, are all busy ; without, every muscle, every nerve is 
exerted; — not a feature, not a limb, but speaks. The organs 
of the body, attuned to the exertions of the mind, through 
the kindred organs of the hearers instantaneously vibrate 
those energies from soul to soril. Notwithstanding the di- 
versity of minda in euch a multitude, by the lightning of elo- 
quence they are melted into one maas; the whole assem- 
bly, actuated in one andthe same way, become, as it were, 
but one man, and have but one voice. The universal cry 
is, Z«( us march against PhiUp! let itsjightfor our liber- 
ties ! let lis ecmgtier or die/ 

by Google* 


[Analyrit.—l. Eloqnence of the Bar compared with that oF Popnlar AmembtleB. — 
3. The alme at IhepopaUr orator,— 3. The ^ma andohJecte ortheeloqaenceoftbe 
Bar. BequbilCB tot eaccess.— 4. Advice of the accisDt rhetoriclana. The practice 
adopted bf Cicero.— D. Wher«Ia the sdrocate msT still fail. The advaotages of elo- 
qHence to the Isnyer.— s. Management of the pleadings In a criminal case:- What 
the ancients adrlse in relation- thereto. The point at nbicb tbe prosecntor alma.- 
T. The bnslneu or ibe defending attorhey :— the polnu at wblch he alms.— 8. Sub- 
jects ofcDDtroTera; In civil cases. The mora eiteuelve field which Is here opened 
to the lawjer.— 9. Treairaent of the argnments of an adveroarj'.— 10. Policy of Hr. 
Foi In tbie respect. Mr. Butler's descrlptloaorblm.— 11. The degree of zeal appro- 
priate to an advocate 12. Folic; to 1m obeerred Id tbe mauageraeut afodiuna and 

nnjDBt cinses.— IE. Concluding remarks. Nature of the Held tbat le open to tbe 
advocate. His advantages. Hb succest.] 

1. Much of what is peculiar to the eloquence of popular 
assemblies is also applicable to the eloquenco of the Bar: 
buj there is, nevertheless, a broad (listincttoa between the 



enda at which they severally aim. In the former, the great 
object is to perenade ; in the latter, to convince. 

2. Where the end is persuasion, the orator aims to infln- 
ence his hearers to some choice of conduct, aa good, fit, or 
useful; and hence he applies himself to all the principles of 
action in our nature. Although he would convince the un- 
derstanding, yet he aims, also, to move the feelings, and to 
excite, or appease, and sway tbe passions to his will, because 
through their influence human conduct is controlled. 

3. Vthei'e the end is to convince — to prove or to disprove 
a charge or an accusation, the speaker's business is not to 
persuade judges or jury to what is good, or useful, or expe- 
dient, but to show them what ia just and true — what ia 
equity and law. Hence the eloquence of the Bar is to be 
chiefly, if not solely, addressed to the understanding. Facta, 
and the best mode of using thcra, are here the great instru- 
ments of the orator's power ; and the foundation of his rep- 
utation and success must always be laid in a knowledge of 
his own profession. 

4. The ancient rhetoricians not only urge npon the young 
lawyer a profound knowledge of the law, but they dwell at 
great length upon the importance of making himself fully 
acquainted with all the cii-cum stances of every case present- 
ed to him. Thus Cicero tells us that he always conversed 
at great length with every client in private; that he was 
wont to start every objection, andlo plead the cause of the 
adverse party with him, that he might come at the whole 
truth, and be fully prepared on every point that might 
arise ; and that, after his client bad retired, ho would bal- 
ance all the facts with himself, from three different posi- 
tions : — from hie own view of the case, from that of the 
Judge, and from that of the advocate on the opposite side. 

5. But,although an advocatebe well grounded in a knowlr 
edge of the law in general, and with its application to the 
case in band, yet, if opposed hy a wily adversary, he may 
still fail, even with a good cause, if he can not present his 
case fairly and forcibly to the judge and jury. In an intri- 
cate case, much will depend upon the clf^amese with which 
all the points, on either side, are presented ; and here the 

r:,,r.=^i by Google 


truly eloqnent man, who pleads a cause with elegance, order, 
strength, and yet with modeaty, and with a manner that car- 
ries conviction of his sincerity, will have alt the advantage; 
and he who fails as a speaker will often fail in doing jnstice 
to bis client. 

6. The ancients, whom the moderns have wisely copied, 
dwell at length upon the proper management of the plead- 
ings in a criminal case when it comes to trial. They advise 
that the prosecutor ahoald first clearly define and explain 
the nature of the charge or accusation ; that he should next - 
consider the motives that may have led to the crime, — such 
as avarice, an old grudge, resentment of an injury, or a de- 
sire of revenge ; that he should, in the third place, consider 
if the accused cou^ have committed the deed — that is,if the 
place, the time, and the circumstances were favorable to it ; 
and, fourthly, that he should weigh well all the circuuMtances 
and bearings of the evidence, and see if they be such as to 
fix upon the accused positively, or beyond a rational doubt, 
the commission of the crime. From such topics the prose- 
cutor takes his arguments; and from a large circle of facts 
and probabilities brings every thing to bear upon the one 
point, conviction, according to the law and the testimony, 
which are the square and the compass by which his plead- 
ings are measured. 

7. The business of the defending attorney is to invalidate 
the positions and arguments of the prosecutor, and thus re- 
fute the charge brought against his client. He therefore 
endeavors to show that the alleged motives were wanting, 
or so weak as to merit very little regard : he perhaps en- 
deavors to prove that his client had neither the opportunity 
nor the ability to commit the deed, — that neither the place 
nor the titoe was suitable, or that the accused was in another 
place when the deed was committed. In like manner he will- 
endeavor to explain away the circumstances, if they can not 
be directly denied; or he may attribute them to other causes; 
or he may charge the crime npon some othef person ; and, 
finally, he may caution i^ainst conviction npon doubtfiil, 
unreliable, or folse testimony. 

8. In civil cases, the chief subjects of controversy are writ- 


ten laws', wills', contracts', s.bA other legal documentB^; and 
here the field is BtUI wider than in the department of crimi- 
nal law. Inquiries Into the true meaning and proper appli- 
cation of either statutory or common law'; the resolving 
of amhiguitieB in wills and contracts' ; the reconciling or 
explaining of conflicting judicial deciBions, and of dlBagree- 
ments between the words and supposed intentions of par- 
ties' ; and inferences to be drawn from the general spirit of 
the law', will ever continue to be fruitful topics of litigation', 
and keep open the broadest arena for the.diBplay of genins', 
learning', and eloquence', on the part of those who make the 
law their profession. 

9. When, in either civil or criminal cases, the pleader 
comes to set forth the arguments employed by his adver- 
sary in order to refute them, he should be on his guard not 
to do them injustice by disguising them, or placing them in 
a &lse light. Deceit in this matter, as it will not fail to be 
discovered, will tend to impress jndge and jury with dis- 
trust of the speaker's discernment or fairness ; whereas, 
when they see that he states with accuracy and candor the 
arguments of his adversary, they are naturally led to think 
that he has a clear and full conception of all that can be said 
on both sides of the case, and entire confidence in the good- 
ness of his own cause. 

10. It was a peculiarity of the English orator, Mr. Fox, 
that he always did full justice to his opponent, and abated 
nothing from the force with which he had stated his case. 
"The moment of his grandeur," says Mr. Butler, "was 
when, after he had stated the argument of his adversary 
with much greater strength than his adversary had done, 
and with much greater than any of his hearers had thought 
possible, he seized it with the strength of a giant, tore it in 
pieces, and trampled on it to destruction." 

11. While a degree of warmth is always appropriate, inas- 
much as the advocate stands in the place of his client, yet 
he should beware of engaging with equal, and, consequent- 
ly, frequently assumed zeal, in every cause intmsted to him. 
There is a dignity of character which it is of the utmost im- 
portance for him to maintain' ; for there is no LDstrament 



of perBnasion more powerful with judge and jury than their 
favorable opinion of the probity and honor of him who pleads 
a case before them. 

12, HencG the lawyer who prizes, as he should, all legiti- 
mate means of permanent aucccBS in his profeseion, will al- 
ways decline, both on moral gronnds and from motives of 
policy, to embark in causes that are odious and manifestly 
unjuBt ; and, when he supports a doubtful canee, he will lay 
the chief atress upon such arguments as appear to his own 
judgment the moat tenable, reserving his zeiil and his indig- 
nation for cases where injustice and iniquity are flagrant. 

IS. In conclusion we may remark, that the very widest 
field is open to the honest advocate for the study of human 
nature^ for the analysis of character^ for tracing effects to 
their causes', for aiding the oppressed', and for enforcing 
the claims of justice'"'''. Of all the liberal professions, none 
gives fairer play to genins and abilities than that of the ad- 
vocate. He is far less exposed than the politician to suffer 
by the arts of rivalry, or popular prejudice, or secret in- 
trigna His subjects are always new ; he is sure of coming 
forward according to his merit ; he enters the lists boldly 
with his competitors ; and every appearance which he makes 
is an appeal to the public, whose decision seldom fails of be- 
ing jnst, because it is impartial. His success is in his own 
hands; andbemay rest assured that the multitude of clients 
will never fail to resort to him who gives the most approved 
specimens of his knowledge, his eloquence, his tact, his in- 
dustry, and his integrity. 


1. Ih all suits at law there must be what is called an ietue 
between the parties, which arises from a charge, accnsation, 
or claim, on the one side, and its denial on the other ; and 
the issne, or point in dispute, is naturally reached as soon 
as the charge of the plaintiff has been answered by the de- 


fendaDL The burden of proof may rest with either party, 
according to the nature of the case. 

2. Thus, in that celebrated case in which Cicero is enp- 
posed' to have delivered his beautifal and happily-airanged 
oration in defense ofMilo,who ie accused of killing Clodius, 
the plea ofMilo, in answer to the chaise, ia, I killed Mm / 
but the killing was in self-d^enae, and hence jusUJiable in the 
eyes of the law. 

3. Here the accaBed, admitting the deed, declares the kill- 
ing justifiable, which the other party denies ; and this dec- 
laration on the one side, and denial on the other, constitute 
the iaaue which is to be tried at law ; and, in this case, bs 
the burden of proof is thrown upon the defense, it is the 
business of Cioero to demonstrate the lawfulnesB ofMiIo's 

4. Bnt, besides the main question in dispute, there are 
often many subordinate ones, which are brought in, on the 
one side or on the other, to contribute toward its elucida- 
tion ; and these, also, are often made matters of issue be- 
tween the parties. Thus Milo says, I killed Clodim because 
he attempted to aesaesinale me ; and this is met by a denial. 

5. Often circumstantial evidence, in the absence of direct 
testimony, has to be weighed. The witnesses on which 
parties rely are to be produced ; their admissibility is per- 
haps to be argued before the court ; and, after they have 
been examined and cross-examined, the credibility of their 
testimony is to be weighed by judge and jury, in the light 
of the character which the witnesses sustain for truth and 
veracity, their personal interest in the case, and their friend- 
ship or enmity towai-d the parties. And, finally, in criminal 
cases, as in that against Milo for the killing of Olodiua, the 
characters of the two principal parties naturally come up 
for investigation ; and we find that Cicero uses all the em- 
bellishments of oratory to set forth the virtnes of his client 
on the one hand, arid to contrast with them the gross vices 
which stained the character of Clodius. 

6. It is of the greatest importance to the advocate that, 
in all his ai^amonts, and episodes, and embellishments, he 

• TblB DrntloD, ai ns now 1»tb it, mu tiritMn out b; Ckeio 4ller Ui« uliL 



keep clearly in view tbe main qaestion in dispate, that be 
may make every thing hear to that end ; otherwiee he will 
be very liable to wander from tho point, and bewilder both 
htmBelt' and his hearers. And no less important is this clear- 
ness ofperoeption and discrimination to judge and jury, who 
sometimes find it no easy matter, amid the multitude of ar- 
•Tuments and agreeable digressions of a skillful advocate, to 
separate that which is offered in proof from that which is 
only brought in for illustration. 



CIn the month ofSept6niber,13(IS,R<iberlKinmet,lten only twentj-three years of ' 
ngB, «u brought to trial la Ihe dty irf Dublin on B charge ot high tresBon, tor plat- 
img and iDetlgBdng a rebelliou agalnet the British goTernment Ho wu tDnnd 
gnilty of taking an active part !n an attack upon the casUe and anenalB ofnnblin, 
and wae condemned, and eiccnted For the crime. 

We give. Oral, the closing part of the speech of tba AttorDey General la Ibe cue, 
which la admirable fortbejnat and ooble eentlinentB wUch It conreyii.) 


1, Gentlemen of the Jiiry : — If I have said any thing to in- 
cite within you an additional indignation against the crime 
of treason,! am not sorry fol: having done so; but I do not 
mean, in expressing my horror of the crime, to prejudice 
yon against the criminal. On the contrary, in proportion 
to the enormity of the crime, should the presumption be that 
he has not committed it. 

2. I must also request, if yon have heard, before this day, 
any thing nnfavorable to the prisoner, that yon will en- 
deavor to forget it. Popnlar mmor should be entirely for- 
gotten ; that which may have been matter of idle conversa- 
tion should not work against the prisoner at the awful mo- 
ment of trial. In the weighing of evidence, every former 
feeling of yonr minds against the prisoner must be forgot- 
ten ; and yon must give him the fiill benefit of any defense 
which he may make, and dispassionately consider the na- 
ture of his vindication. You have the life of a fellow-snb- 
ject in yonr hands, and, by the peculiar benignity of our 



laws, be ie presumed to be inDooent until your verdict shall 
find him guilty. 

3, But, in leaning against a bias, yon muBt not take a direc* 
tion the other way. Yon must b^rin mind that yon have 
a most solemn duty to discharge to your country and to 
your God ; and if it shall appear that the prisoner was the 
prime mover of this rebellion — that he was the spring which 
gave it life and activity, then, I say, as you regard tiie obli- ' 
gatioa of the oaths which you have taken, and the solemn 
responsibilities which they devolve upon you, you must give 
a tmthful verdict. It is not for yon to separate punishment 
from guilt ; and you must not allow any false feeling of pity 
for the man to warp your judgment against the claims of 
public justice. 


[After hearine tl"" eridenM, which wbb (hll and decisive againet the prisoner, and 
tlBteaing to the charge otthB Judge, Lord Narbaiy. the jDry,wltbant leavlag their 
Beata, pronounced the prisoner gniltj. When aokcd what he had to Baj whyjndg- 
ment of death and eiecadon Bhoald not be awarded agaJnat him according to law, 
be aroee, and, standing fomard In the dock Id front oftha bench, made an Im- 
prompln address, orhisepeech, which occupies seven oclaTO pagea In the orlglnBl, 
only brief extracts can here be gl°en. 

It «as hie conntiy'B degTadatJan, and the snflferlnga of her people tram Bntlsh 
misrule, that loncbcd the heart or the noble-minded Bminet : and, sltbongh the Id- 
■nrrectlon, which he eeems to have planned, was insane in the last degree, yet Uie 
eloquence and pathos evinced in his dflDK Bpeeeh, and the conrage with which he 
met his fate, have won nnivenal admiration. J 

1. J^ioJYfo.'— What have I to say why sentence of death 
ahonld not be pronounced on me accordmg to law ? I have 
nothing to say that can alter your predetermination, or that 
it would become me to say, with any view to the mitiga- 
tion of that sentence which you are here to pronounce, and 
which I must abide. But I have much to say which Inteiv 
ests me more than that life which yon have labored to de-~ 
stroy. I have much to say why my reputation should be 
rescued from the load of false accusation and calumny which 
has been heaped upon it. 

2. Were I only to suffer death after being adjudged guilty 

K GcHH^Ie 


hy your tribunal,! ehonld bo^ in silence, and meet the fate 
that awaits me without a murmur. But the Bentence of 
the law, which delivers my body to the executioner, will, 
through the ministjy of that law, labor, in its own vindica- 
tion, to consign my character to obloquy; for there must be 
guilt somewhere — whether in the sentence of the court or in 
the catastrophe, posterity must determine. 

3. When my spirit shall be wafled to a more fiiendly 
port ; when my shade shall have joined the bands of those 
martyred heroes who have shed their blood on the scaffold 
and in the field in defense of their country and virtue — this 
is my hope : I wish that my memory and name may animate 
those who survive me,whUe I look down with complacency 
on the destruction of that perfidious government which 
upholds its domination by blasphemy of the Most High. 
(Here he was interrupted and severely rebuked by the 

4. My lord, shall a dying man be denied the legal priv- 
ilege of exculpating himself, in the eyes of the community, 
from an undeserved reproach thrown upon him during his 
tnal by charging him with ambition, and with attempting 
to oast away, for a paltry consideration, the liberties of his 
country ? Why, then, insult me ? or, rather, why insult jus- 
tice, in demanding of me why sentence of death should not 
be pronounced ? f^ere he was told to proceed.) 

6. I am charged with being an emissary of France' ! An 
emissary of France' 1 And for what end' ? It is alleged 
that I wished to sell the independence of my country ! And 
for what end? Was this the object of my ambition? and 
is this the mode by which a tribunal of justice reconciles 
contradictions ? TSo, I am no emissary. My ambition was 
to hold a place among the deliverers of my country ; not 
in power nor in profit, but in the glory of the achievement 1 

6. Sell ray country's independence to France ! And for 
what ? For a change of masters P No ; but for ambition ! 
Oh my country, was it personal ambition that could influ- 
ence me ? Had it been the soul of my actions, could I not, 
by my education and fortune, by the rank and consideration 
of my family, have placed myself among the proudest of my 



country's oppresaoreP My countiy was my idoL To it I 
sacrificed every selfish, every endearing sentiment; and for 
it I now offer up my life. 

1. No, my lord; I acted as an Irishman, detennined on 
delivering my coantry from the yoke of a foreign aud an- 
relenting tyranny; and from the more galling yoke of a 
domestic faction, its joint partner and perpetrator in the 
patricide, and whose reward is the ignominy of existing 
with an exterior of splendor, and a consciousness of deprav- 
ity. It was the wish of my heart to extricate my country 
from this doubly-riveted despotism. I wished to place her 
independence beyond the reach of any power on earth. I 
wished to eialt her to that proud station in the world which 
Providence had fitted her to fill. 

8. Let no man dare, when I am dead, to charge me with 
dishonor. Let no man attaint my memory by believing that 
1 could have engaged in any cause but that of my country's 
liberty and independence, or that I could have becoqie the 
pliant minion of power in the oppression and the miseries 
of my countrymen. 

6. I would not have submitted to a foreign oppressor, for 
the same reason that I would resist the domestic tyrant. In 
the dignity offreedom I would have fought upon the thresh- 
old of my country, and her enemy should enter only by 
passing over my lifeless corpse. And am I, who lived but 
for my country, who have subjected myself to the vengeance 
of the jealous and watchfiil oppressor, and now to the bond- 
age of the grave, only to give my countrymen their rights 
— am I to be loaded with calumny, and not sufiered to re- 
sent or repel it ? No : Heaven forbid 1 

10. If the spirits of the illustrious dead participate in the 
concenis and cares of those who were dear to them in this 
transitory life, oh, ever dear and venerated shade of my de- 
parted fether I look down with scrutiny upon the conduct 
. of your suffering son, and see if I have, even for a moment, 
deviated from those principles of morality and patriotism 
which it was your care to instill into my youthful mind, and 
for an adherence to which I am now to offer up my Ufel 
(Here he was again interrupted by the judge.) 



11, My lords, you seem impatient for the saorifice. The 
blood for -which you thirst is not congealed by the artificial 
terrors which Burround your victim; it circnlatee, warmly 
and unruffled, through the channels which God created for 
Hoble purposes, but which you are bent to destroy for pur- 
poses 80 grievous that they cry to Heaven — Be yet patient ! 
I have but a few words more to say. My lamp of life is 
nearly extinguished. My race is run. The grave opens to 
receive me, and I sink into its bosom. 

12. I have but one request to ask at my departure from 
this world — it is the charity of its silence. Let no man write 
my epitaph ; for, as no one who knows my motives dare 
MOW vindicate them, let not prejudice or ignorance asperse 
them. Let them and me repose in obscurity and peace, and 
ray tomb remain nniuscribed, until other times and other 
men can do justice to my character. When my country 
shall take her place among the nations of the earth — then, 
and not till then, let my epitaph be written 1 


[Br BD «rl7 iHw or Viiglaii, each miuialar of tha EaUbIlsb«d Churdi (HpiBcnps. 
IUd) oas eulltled to [eoeiie an umoal sUpeod of 10,000 poands ntlotiuxo. For s 
long tlma tbe price of tobacco rcmaloed nt twopence ■ pound; bnt a aeaKm of 
acaicltr coming on, tbe Leglslatiire paeeed an act allowing the pei^le to paj In 
■none;, at the rate of tnopcnce a poand. The clergy damnrred: the king and 
conncll declared the act nail and TOld ; and the conrta bad alreadf decided In fBTor 
of Ifae clergy, when Patrick Boor; nndertookto argne the final caw for the people, 
on a urU of inquiry at to the aimijmt of damaga. It waa tbe occasion of bla Aral 
apeecb In pablic ; and, what added to hla embartaaament, bla tbtber aat aa one of tba 
jiidgei In the caae.] 

1. And now came on the first trial of Patrick Henry's 
strength. No one had ever heard him Bpeak, and curiosity 
was on tiptoe. He rose very awkwardly, and faltered much 
in his exordium. The people hang their heads at so un- 
promising a commencement; the clergy were observed to 
exchange sly looks with one another; and Henry's father 
is described as having almost sunk with confusion from his 

=^-h, Google 


2. But these feeliags were of short dnration, and they sood 
gave place to others of a very different character. For aow 
were tbOBe wonderful faculties which he possessed, for the 
first time developed ; and now was first witnessed that mys- 
terious aod almost snpematui'al transformation of appear- 
ance which the fire of his own eloquence never failed to 
work in him. As his mind rolled along, and began to glow 
from its own action, all the clown seemed to pass away. 

3. His attitude, by degrees, became erect and lofty. The 
spirit of his genius awakened all his features. His counte- 
nance shone with a nobleness and grandeur which it had 
never before exhibited. There was a lightning in his eyes 
which seemed to rive the spectator. His action became 
graceful, bold, and commanding ; and in the tones of his 
voice, but more especially in his emphasis, there was a pe- 
culiar charm, a magic, of which any Tvho ever heard him 
will speak as soon as he is named, but of which no one can 
give any adequate description. 

4. They can only say that it struck upon the ear, and upon 
the heart, in a manner which language can not tell. Add to 
all these his wonder-working fancy, and the peculiar phra- 
seology in which he clothed its images ; for he painted to 
the heart with a force that almost petrified it. In the lan- 
guage of those who heard him on this occasion, "he made 
their blood run cold, and their hair to rise on end." 

5. It will not be difficult for any one who ever heai-d this 
eitraordinary man to believe the whole account of this 
transaction, which is given by his surviving hearei-s; and 
from their account the court-house of Hanover County must 
have exhibited, on this occasion, a scene as picturesque as 
baa ever been witnessed in real life. 

6. They say that the people, whose conntenances had fallen 
as he arose, had heard but a very few sentences before they 
began to look up; then to look at each other with surprUie, 
as if doubting the evidence of their senses; then, attracted 
by some strong gesture, strack by some majestic attitude, 
fascinated by the spell of his eye, the chann of his emphasis, 
and the varied and commanding ezpression of his counte- 
nance, they oould look away no more. 


7. In lesB than twenty minutes they might be seen in 
every part of the house, on every bench, in every window, 
stooping forward from their stands, in death-like silence ; 
their features fixed in amazement and awe ; all their senses 
listening and riveted upon the speaker, as if to catch the 
last strain of some heavenly visitant. The mockery of the 
clergy was soon turned into alarm ; their triumph into con- 
Insion and despair; and at one burst of his rapid and over- 
whelming invective, they fled from the bench in precipita- 
tion and terror. As for the father, such was hia surprise, 
such his amazement, such his rapture, that, forgetting where 
he was, and the character which he was filling, tears of ec- 
stasy streamed down his cheeks, without the power or incli- 
nation to repress them. 

8. The jury seem to have been so completely bewildered 
that they lost sight of the admitted law in the case; and 
they had scarcely left the bar when they returned with a 
verdict of one penny damages. A motion was made for a 
new trial ; but tbe court, too, had now lost the equipoise of 
their judgment, and overruled the motion by a unanimous 

9. The verdict, and judgment overruling the motion, were 
followed by redoubled acclamations, from within and with- 
out the bouse. The people, who had with difficulty kept 
their bands off their champion from the moment of closing 
his harangue, no sooner saw tbe fate of the cause finally 
sealed, than they seized him at the bar, and, in spite of his 
own exertions, and the continued cry of " order" from the 
sheriffs and the court, raising him on their shoulders, carried 
him about the yard in a kind of electioneering triumph. 

Thb first great speech of Cicero, tiie greatest at Soman <miors,-waa at 

the age of twentj-seven ; at the eame age Demosthenea, the gteatest of 
Grecian oraura, first disCii;giiished himself in the assemblj of the Athe- 
nians; and it Ttna preciselj in tbe same year of hia life that Patrick Henri's 
talents became known to himself and to the worid. Mr. JeETerson s^d of 
At Utter, "BtKKU the grtate$t orator thta evtr livtd." 

by Google 




WtLMiH Wiar. 
(la the jfx ieMI,ColoDel Asion Ban, a disllngiiiEhed politician, iawTer, asd oih. 
tot, wbo lud b«ea Vlco-Pr»!dent of tlie Unlled StaWB dnriog Jcfferaoii'a idmlnif- 
(DttlOD, BUd who had recently acquired an odions notorielj bj having caosed the 
death orAlexander Hsmltbia in a dool, was delected in a coneplncy, the deaign of 
wblcbwaa to form, In the great Valle; of tlie]llululppl,SD lDdep«Ddenl emptra, of 
which he vu to be ths rnier, and New Orieuia the capital ;— or, falling In (hU, It 
waa hla dsBign to march Dpon Ueiico, and eslabilsh an empire there. He was a> 
r^ted, aod bronght t« trial la Ism on the cbai^ of treason. When it wu foaud, 
on the trial, tbat Colonel Burr coald not be cnnnecled with anj overt acta of trea- 
S0D,amaUon wa> made M eicinde further teBtlman; in the csae: and it waa on 
tbl* motion that Mr. Wirt made that famona apeech from which the following et 
tncta are taken. The, object here la to prove that Colonel Bnrr waa the principal 
[dotlsr of treuoD, (tod Hr. Blennerhasaelt, one of taia aieociaUB, onl j an acceasor;.] 

1. Let OS put the case between Burr and Blennerhassett. 
Iiet uB compare the two men, and settle this question of 
precSdence between them. It may save mnch troublesome 
ceremony hereafter. 

2. Who Aaron Burr is, we have seen in part already. I 
will add that, beginning hia operations in New York, he 
associates with Mm men whose wealth is to sapply the nec- 
essary funds. Possessed of the mainspring, his personal la- 
bor contrives all the machinery. Pervading the continent 
from New York to New Orleans, he draws into his plan, by 
every allurement which he can contrive, men of all ranks 
and profesBions. To youthful ardor he presents danger and 
glory; toambition", rank, and titles, and honors; to avaiice, 
the mines of Mexico. To each person whom he addresses 
he presents the object adapted to his taste. 

3. His recruiting officers are appointed. Men are en- 
gaged throughout the continent. Civil life is, indeed, quiet 
upon its surface, but in its bosom this man has contrived to 
deposit the materials which, with the slightest tonch of hia 
match, will produce an explosion to shake the continent. 
All this hia restless ambition has contrived ; and in the an- 
tumn of 1806 he goes forth, for the last time, to apply the 
match. On this occasion he meets with Blennerhassett. 

4. Who is Blennerhassett? A native of Ireland, a man 
of letters, who fle4 from the storms of his own country to 

r:,,r.=^i by Google 


find quiet in ours. FoBsesBiDg himself of a beautiful island 
in the Ohio, he reara upon it a palace, and decorates it with 
every romantic ombellishment of fancy. A shrubbery, that 
Shenatone* might haye envied, blooms around him ; music, 
which might have charmed Calypso'' and her nymphs, is his ; 
an extensive library spi'eacls its treasures before him ; a phil- 
')Sophical apparatus offers to him alt the secrets and mys- 
cerieB of Nature ; peace, tranquillity, and innocence shed 
their mingled delights around him ; and, to crown the en- 
chantment of the scene, a wife, who is said to be lovely even 
beyond her sex, and graced with every accomplishment that 
can render it irresistible, had blessed him with her love, and 
made him the father of her children. The evidence would 
convince you, sir, that this is only a faint picture of the real 

5. In the midst of all this peace, this innocence, and this 
tranquillity, this feast of the mind, this pure banquet of the 
heart, the destroyer comes — he comes to turn this paradise 
into a bell. A stranger presents himself It is Aaron Burr. 
Introduced to their civilities by the high rank which he had 
lately held in his country, he soon finds his way to their 
hearts by the dignity and elegance of his demeanor, the 
light and beauty of his conversation, and the seductive and 
fascinating powers of his address, 

6. 'The conquest was not a difficult one. Innocence is 
ever simple and credulous; conscious of no designs itself, 
It suspects none in others; it wears no gnai-ds before its 
breast; every door, and portal, and avenue of the heart is 
thrown open, and all who choose it enter. Such was the 
state of Eden when the serpent entered its bowers. Tho 
prisoner, in a more engaging form, winding himself into the 
open and unpraeticed heart of the unfortunate Blennerhas- 
siett, found but little diificulty in changing the native char- 
acter of that heart, and the objects of its affection. 

7. By degrees he infnses into it the poison of bis own am- 
bition; he breathes into it the Hre of his own courage; a 
daring and desperate thirst for glory ; an ardor panting for 
all the storms, and bustle, and hurricane of life. In a short 
time the whole man is changed, and every object of his for- 


mer delights rellnqniBhed. No more he enjoys the tranquil 
scene ; it has become flat and insipid to his taste ; his books 
are abandoned; his retort and crucible are thrown aside; 
his shrubbery blooms and breathes its fragrance upon the 
air in vain; be likes it not; his ear no longer drinks the 
rich melody of miisic; it longs for the trumpet's clangor and 
the cannon's roar. Even the prattle of his babes, once so 
sweet, no longer affects him ; and the angel smile of his 
wife, which hitherto touched his bosom with ecstasy so un- 
speakable, is now unseen and unfelt. 

8. Greater objects have taken possession of his soul — ^his 
im^ination has been dazzled by visions of diadems, and 
stars, and garters, and titles of nobility ; be has been taught 
to bum with restless emulation at the names of Cromwell, 
Cffisar, and Bonaparte. His enchanted island is destined 
soon to relapse into a desert ; and in a few months we find 
the tender and beautiful paitner of his bosom, whom he 
lately "permitted not the winds of summer to viMt too 
roughly" — we find her shivering, at midnight, on the winter 
banks of the Ohio, and mingling her tears with the torrents 
that froze as they felL 

9. Yet this unfortunate man, thus deluded from his inters 
est and his happiness — thus seduced jrom the paths of in* 
nocence and peace — thus confounded in the toils which were 
deliberately spread for him, and overwhelmed by the mas- 
tering spirit and genius of another — this man, thus ruined 
and undone, and made to play a subordinate part in this 
grand drama of guilt and treason — this man is to be called 
the principal offender ; while he, by whom he was thus 
plunged and steeped in misery, is comparatively innocent 
— a mere accessory ! Sir, neitber the human heart, nor the 
human understanding, will bear a perversion so monstroas 
and absurd ; so shocking to the soul ; so revolting to reason. 

•WiLLiAii EaiNBTOHE, m HdmlTetl BngllBli poet, bora In IT14, having cone IbIk 
poeeeFaToii nri coDelderabls eststE, eoon rendered Tt ao object <ifqo mnchplclnrmqiia 
beauty, itant it tiecame blgbly celebrated, and attracled DDmerons rlnltora from all 
quarters. Unrortnnatel;, be spent Ma eelate In ndornliig tt, imd bl> death WIS pnil- 
Bbl; occaiioDBd, Iq ITBS, b; his anileUes. 

"C«T.r™i>,« fabled Grecian ROddesp, who dwell, with her sttBDilant nyimhs, <m 
RD lalaiid of moat wondeT[iil ijlTUi beanO. 

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Damibl Wmsrat. 

[Dntbe maraiDe or (he Tth dsj of April, ISSO, Joseph While, sd aged and weBltby 
mercbaiitDfSalem,Mtie9.,wae round mardered in his bed, Id his own hoDse. ByacD- 
riouB chain otclicomsunces, eoBplclon at length fei'. upon the hrothera Joeeph J. and 
John F. KQapp, who were dletao tly related bj' marrlBge to the deceased, and Bichard 
Blid George Crown Inahield. Joseph J, Kaapp made a confeBBion ofthc cirenmatauces 
ofihairime, impUcatiug Richard Crdwnlnehield as the actual aner otthe deed, "fur 
mere pa;," and ahowlag that the object of the brothers Knapp obb to destroy a will 
or Mr. White, and preveol the posBihillty nfhie making another. Richard Crownln- 
Bhleld committed aalclde in prlaon ; and the two Knapps, tiled at different tlmea, 


1. I AH little accustomed, gentlemen, to the part which I 
am now attempting to perform. Hardly more than once or 
twice has it happened to me to be concerned on the part of 
the government in any criminal prosecution whatever; and 
never, antil the present occasion, in any case affecting life. 

2. But I very much regret that it ehonld have been thonght 
necessary, by the counsel for the prisoner, to suggest to yon, 
that I am brought here to " hurry yon against the law, and 
beyond the evidence," I hope I have too much regai^ for 
justice, and too much respect for my own character, to at- 
tempt either; and, were I to make such an attempt, I am 
snre that, in this court, nothing can be carried against the 
law ; and that gentlemen, intelligent and just as you are, are 
not, by any power, to be hurried beyond the evidence. 

3. Though I could well have wished to shun this occasion, 
I have not felt at liberty to withhold my professional assist- 
ance, when it is supposed that I might be in some degree 
useful in investigating and discovering the truth respecting 
this most extraordinary murder. It has seemed to be a 
duty incumbent on me, as on every other citizen, to do my 
beat, and my utmost, to bring to light the perpetrators of 
this crime. 

4. Against the prisoner at the bar, as an individual,! can 
not have the slightest prejudice. I wonld not do him the 

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smallest injuiy or injustice. But I do not, affect to be indif- 
ferent to the diBcovery and the punishment of this deep 
guilt. I cheerfully share in the opprobrium, how much so- 
ever it may be, which is cast on those who feel and mani- 
fest an anxious concern, that all who had a part in planning, 
or a hand in executing this deed of midnight assassination, 
may be brought to answer for their enormous crime at the 
bar of public justice. 

6. Gentlemen, it is a most extraordinary case. In some 
respects it has hardly a pr&cSdent any where; certainly 
none in our "New England history. This bloody drama ex- 
hibited no suddenly excited, ungovernable lage. The act- 
ors in it were not surprised by any lion-like temptation 
springing upon their virtue, and overcoming it befor^resist- 
QDce could begin. Nor did they do the deed to glut savage 
vengeance, or satiate long-settled and deadly hate. It was 
a cool, calculating, money-making murder. It was all " hire 
and salary, not revenge." It was the weighing of money" 
against life ; the counting out of so many pieces of silver 
against so many ounces of blood. 

6. An aged man, without an enemy in the world, in his 
own house, and in his own bed, is made the victim of a 
butcherly murder for mere pay. Truly, here is a new lesson 
for painters and poets. Whoever shall hereafter draw the 
portrait of a murder, if he will show it as it has been exhib- 
ited in one example, where such example was last to have 
been looked for, in the vciy bosom of our New England so- 
ciety, let him not give it the grim visage of Moloch, the 
brow knitted by revenge, the face black with settled hate, 
and the bloodshot eye, emittmg livid fires of malice. 

7. Let him draw, mther, a decorons, smooth-faced, blood- 
less demon ; a picture in r^ose rather than in action; not 
P.O much an example of human nature in its depravity and 
in its paroxysms of crime, as an infernal nature — a fiend in 
the ordinary display and development of bis character. 

8. The deed was executed with a degree of self-possession 
:ind steadiness equal to the wickedness with which it was 
planned. The circumstances — now clearly in evidence — 
i^pread out the whole scene before us. Deep sleep had fallen 


on the destined victim, and on all beneath his roof: a health- 
ful old man, to whom sleep was sweet — the firat sound elum- 
bera of the night held him in their sofl but strong embrace. 

9. The assassin entera*, through the window already pre- 
pared, into an unoccupied apartment. With noiseless foot 
hepacesthelonelyhaU, half lighted by the moon; he winds 
up the ascent of the stairs, and reaches the door of the cham- 
ber. Of this he moves tl^ lock, by soil and continued pres- 
sure, till it turns on its hinges without noise ; and he enters, 
and beholds his victim before him. The room was uncom- 
monly open to the admission of light. The face ofthe inno- 
cent sleeper was turned from the murderer ; and the beams 
of the moon, resting on the gray locks of his aged temple, 
showed him where to strike. The fatal blow is given ! and 
the victim passes, without a struggle or a motion, from the 
repose of sleep" to the repose of death I 

10. It is the assassin's purpose to make sure work ; and he 
yet plies the dagger, though it was obvious that life had 
been destroyed by the blow ofthe bludgeon. He even raises 
the £^ed arm that he may not fail in his aim at the heail), 
and replaces it again over the wounds of the poniard 1 

11. To finish the pictura, he explores the wrist for the 
pulse. He feels for it, and ascertains that it beats no lon- 
ger ! It is accomplished. The deed is done. He retreats, 
retraces his steps to the window, passes out through it as he 
came in, and escapes. He has done the murder — no eye has 
seen him, no ear has heard him. Tbe secret is his own, and 
he is safe ! 

12. Ah! gentlemen, that was a dreadful mistake. Sneha 
secret can be safe nowhera The whole creation of God has 
neither nook nor comer where the guilty can bestow it, 
and say it is safe. Not to speak of that eye which glances 
through all disguises, and beholds every thing, as in the 
splendor of noon — such secrets of guilt are never safe from 

" Here, by the aldoftbe A^storfeaZpruffn^— represeDtIng thlnga ABhappenlDgj^ow, 
tn thepreKDnoftheJadjce and Inrr— Iha flgnre of Vutoh Is lued with great effecl- 
(See page ass.) Althongh moet of the deEciiption 1b hi the narratlTe stfle, jet the 
trBaettlon ttom the pait In Uie preBCnt in thoHi pusoAutt whicb admit It, has the ef- 
fect ot paintins/ Ibe scene to Ibe e]>ea ofthe hearers wllb all tbe vtvldnees oT tbe re- 


detection even by men. True it is, generally speaking, that 
" murder will out" True it is that Providence hath so or- 
dained, and doth bo govern things, that those who break the 
great law of Heaven by shedding man's blood, seldom suc- 
ceed in avoiding discovery. 

18. Especially, in a case exciting so much attention as 
this, discovery must come, and will come, sooner or later. 
A thousand eyes turn at once to every man, every thing, 
every circumstance connected with the time and place ; n 
thousand ears catch every whisper ; a thousand excited 
minds intensely dwell on the scene, shedding all their light, 
and ready to kindle the slightest circumstance into a blaze 
of discovery. 

14. Meantime the guilty soul can not keep its own secret 
It is false to itself; or, rather, it feels an irresistible impulse 
of conscience to be true to itself! It labors nnder its guilty 
poBHession, and knows not what to do with it. The human 
heait was not made for the residence of such an inhabitant. 
It finds itself preyed on by a toiment which it dares not ac- 
knowledge to God or man. 

15. A vulture is devouring it, and it can ask no assistance 
or sympathy either from heaven or earth. The secret which 
the murdei-er possesses soon comes to possess him; and, like 
the evil spirits of which we read, it overcomes him, and leads 
him whithersoever it will. He feels it beating at his heart, 
rising to his throat, and demanding disclosm'e. He thinks 
the whole world sees it in his face, reads it in his eyes, and 
almost hears its workings m the veiy silence of his thoughts. 

16. It has become his master. It betrays his discretion, it 
breaks down his courage, it conquers his prudence. When 
suspicions from within begin to embairass hira, and the net 
of circumstances to entangle him, the fatal secret strnggles 
with still greater violence to burst forth. It must be con- 
fessed, it will be confessed ; there is no reiiige from confes- 
sion but suicide — and suicide is confession. 

[The Argument, whicb embroceB ulne teoUu or Ihe entire epeecb, la here wholl; 

The rnllowing are the elating 
Theji will cotnpHre fnviiinlilj witi 
art Emmet. B«e page £S4.] 



1. Gentlemen, your whole concern should be to do yonr 
duty, and leave consequences to take care of themselveB, 
You will receive the law from the court. Your verdict, it ia 
true, may endanger the prisoner's life ; but then it is to save 
other lives. If the prisoner's guilt has been shown and 
proved beyond all i-easonahle doubt, you will convict him. 
If reasonable doubts of guilt stilt remain, you will acquit him. 

2. Yon are the judges of the whole case. You owe a duty 
to the public as well as to the prisoner at the bar. Yoii 
can not presume to be wiser than the law. Your duty is a 
plain, straightforward one. Doubtless we would all judge 
him in mercy. Toward him, as an individual, the law iur 
eulcates no hostility ; but toward him, if proved to be a 
murderer, the law, and the oaths you have taken, and public 
justice, demand that you do your duty, 

3. With consciences satisfied with the discharge of duty, no 
consequences can harm you. There ia no evil that we can 
not either face, or fly from, but the consciousness of duty dis- 
regarded. A sense of duty pursues us ever. It is omni- 
present, like the Deity. If we take to ourselves the winga 
of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea", 
duty performed, or duty violated, is still with us, for our 
happiness or our misery. 

4. If we say the darkness shall cover us, in the darkness as 
in the light our obligaitions are with us*. We can not escape 
their power, nor fly from their presence. They are with us 
in this life, they will be with us at its close ; and in that 
scene of inconceivable solemnity, which lies yet farther on- 
ward, we shall still find ourselves surrounded by the con- 
sciousness of duty — to pain ns wherever it has been violated, 
and to console us so far as God may have given us grace to 
perform it, 

■ Here Uc. Webster makes abeBatirolappltcitinn or tbelangaige or thePsahnEBt. 
"If I Mke tie wings of the momiue, snd dwell In Ihe ditermoat parts of the sea, 
even tberaehall thy band leaflrae, ana thy right hand aball hold me. Ifl6ay,8nre- 
1; tbe darkness sball cover me; eien Ibe n^bt absllbe ILgbt abont me. Tea, tbe 
darkness hideth act from thee: but the slKbt ahlnet)! as the day: the darkness and 
(In light aro both alike to Uieo."— ftoftn cusii. 




lAvah/tla^—i^ Dimity and ImportBncQ of tbe pnbj^ta t" which thfl pnachflr of 
the Qospel derates hImBelf. What they admit.— 1. ItDponance o{ elnqaence here. 
What 19 reqnired in the eloqneDcenrthe pulpit.— S.SiDcerIt; and goodaeBS requited 
iD tbe preacher.- 4. Adiaatages ot the preacher.- S. The difficulties with which 

tbey ue atlfltided t. The preacher's tociUod aniltheticallj compared with that 

or other papniar spe&kera.— T. Pecnlivltf of the poaitloD of the preacher.— S. The 

demuidB of good men npon him e. Tbe different adranlage* oT dlDereot kinda of 

public speaking.- IQ, In regard to the luijert. A remark otBrujeTi.] 

1. Thbkb is no Other department of knowledge in which 
mankind ought to be so deeply interested as in that which 
relates to the Creator and Ruler of the universe, his attri- 
butes, government, and laws, the oiigin and nature of man, 
and his final destiny. The subjects, therefore, to which the 
preacher of the Gospel devotes himself, far exceed, in dignity 
and importance, those which engage the attention of the 


Senate and the Bar ; and they are such as admit the highest 
cmbelliBhmentB in deacribing, and the greatest vehemence 
and warmth in enforcing them. 

2. True eloquence, which is the art of placing truth in the 
light most advantageons for conviction and persuasion, ie, 
therefore, even more appropriate and more important in the 
pulpit than at the bar or in the forum. The object of the 
preacher is to make his hearers better; — not bo much to dis- 
euBB abstract points of doctrine, or inform them of something 
which they never heard before, &s to give them clear ideas 
and persuasive impressions of religious truth. The eloquence 
of the pulpit, then, should be of that popular kind which, 
while it reasons eoundly, also takes hold of the heart, and 
moves the feelings, so that, like the preaching of Paul, it 
m&j pei-suade men to be Christians. 

3. If it ia important for the advocate to impress his hear^ 
ers with a belief in his sincerity, of still greater importance 
Is it to the preacher. The latter, in order to be sncceasful, 
must not only be a good man, but he must impi'ess others 
with a firm belief in his goodness ; and he must not only 
believe in the truth of the principles which he preaches, but 
he must also deeply /fie? their importance. Then he will ever 
carry with him that spirit of true piety which, even with 
ordinary talent, will make his discourses solid, cogent, and 
nseful, and give to them an earnestness and strength supe- 
rior, in their effects, to all the arts of studied eloquence. 

4. The preacher is generally thought to have some advan- 
tages over the senator and advocate in treating his subjects, 
lie chooses his theme at ISisnre; he speaks to a lai^e assem- 
bly, who go expressly to hear him ; he is secure from inter- 
ruption; and he is obliged to make no replies, or extempo- 
raneous efforts. Be has the whole 6eld to himself, and he 
plans and executes without opposition. 

5. But if, sometimes, these be advantages, they are at- 
tended, likewise, with peculiar difficulties. The subjects of 
pulpit oratory, however important, are trite and familiar; 
and nothing is more difficult than to bestow, on what is 
common, the grace of novelty. And if the preacher has no 
trouble in contending with an adversary, so, likewise, he has 


noQe of the advantages of debate, and of that conflict of 
mind with mind which excites attention and eulivens genias. 

6. Moreover, the preacher ie confined, mostly, to the guat- 
itiea of actions — to virtues and vices in the abstract; while 
other popular speakers treat more of persons. The preach- 
er's basiness is to make you detest the crime ; the pleader's, 
to make you detest the criminal ; and bence it is tbe pleader 
who most easily secures your attention and rouses your in- 
dignation. The audience that listens to the preacher is apt 
to consider, very mnchj mAo speaks; those addressed from 
the bar, or in the senate, consider more what is spoken, 

7. Ucnco it follows that many a character which the world 
would think nowise unauitablo for the bar, or the senate, 
would be deemed wholly unbefitting the pulpit. In this 
particular the position of the preacher is peculiar. He has 
a chantcter to sustain, which is more easily injured than 
that of the senator or the lawyer; for he who is an anthor- 
ized censor of otbei'S can ezpect no indulgence with regard* 
to his own failings. 

8. It is also exceedingly difficult for the preacher to meet 
the demands of all good men; for while too much lenity on 
his part, in reproving the faults, and vices, tbe follies, and 
errors of the times, will expose him to the chaise of luke- 
warmness in the cause of virtue', too much severity, on the 
other hand, will stigmatize him as a stranger to the spirit 
of the Gospel. 

9. It will thus be seen that the different kinds of public 
speaking have. different advantages in respect to eloquence. 
In regard to tbe character of (he speaker, the preacher bas 
by far the most difficult part to sustain. In regard to the 
persons addressed, inasmuch as the more mixed is the audi- 
tory, the greater is the difficulty of interesting them in what 
is said, therefore the pleader who addresses a select few has, 
iu this respect, tbe simplest and easiest task of all. 

10. In regard to the sulj^t, it will be found that the mat- 
ters deliberated upon by public assemblies are better adapt- 
ed to eloquence than those which form the topics of plead- 
ings at the bar; and that discourses from the pulpit, from 
the august nature of the subject, have an advantage over 

r, ■■ kGcHH^Ic 


both. And, in conclnsioD, the inference drawn by the fe- 
mousFrenoh writer, M.Briiyer6, is probably very jnst: that 
"it is much easier to preach than to plead a cause at the 
bar; but it is more difficult to be a good preacher than a 
good advocate," SncoeBsful lawyers arc abandaot ; great 
preachers are rare. 

LESSON cxxvn. 

A Vlaton 

UtiOHAKn Bi^TiK, (he most eminent otthe non-con Ibrmlet* divlDee ofEDgluid: 
bam In lelS; died In INI. Ho lefiB Uua a hnndrsd and Foity-flre tiradiea trere 
pradaced bj lila pen. Of theea, the most read M the praaent da; m Tht SatnU 
Everlaatinff JU9t, and A QUI to tht CneoraertttL 

The Killowlsg selectloii, admirable oflt>klnd,andeic«llentu>readin!reierdie, 
preMntB maDydne eiunplu of antlthealB, and nnmeroiu Ulnatntloii* ottbeBul«a 
orinatcUoD. See also DItUIodTI, page W.] 

1. Rebt'"'1 how sweet the soundM It is melody to my 
eai's'"'! It lies ae a reviving cordial at my heart'*, and 
thence sends forth lively spirits which beat through all the 
pnlaes of my sonl' I Rest', not as the stone that rests on 
the earth", nor as this flesh shall rest in the grave\ nor such 
a rest as the carnal worid desires' 1 O blessed rest''" 1 when 
we rest not day and night, saying," Holy, holy, holy, Lord 
God Almighty ;" when we shall rest from sin', but not from 
worship'* ; from snflering and sorrow', but not from joy' I' 
O ble^ed day" I when I shall rest with God' 1 when I shall 
rest in the bosom of my Lord' I when my perfect soul and 
body shall together perfectly enjoy the most perfect God'I 

2. This is that joy" which was procured by sorrow'* ; that 
crown'' which was procured by the Cross'. My Lord wept'*, 
that now my teai-s might be wiped away' ; he bled'*, that I 
might now rejoice' ; he wag forsaken'*, that I might not be' ; 
he died', that I might live'.- O free mercy, that can exalt 
80 vile a wretch''" 1 Free to me, though dear to Christ ; 
free grace" that hath chosen me, when thousands were for- 

3. O sweet reconciliation' ! happy union''" ! Now the 
Gospel shall no more be dishonored through our folly. No 


more, my bodI', Bhalt thon lameDt the sufferingB of the sainta^ 
or the Church's ruins', or mourn thy Buffering friends', nor 
weep over their dying beds' or their graves'^. Thou shalt 
never suffer thy old temptations from Satan, the world, or 
thy own flesh. Thy pains and sickness are all cured' ; thy - 
body shall uo more burden thee with weakness and weari- 
ness' ; thy aching head and heart', thy hunger and thirst', 
thy sleep and labor', are all gone'. 

4. O'what a mighty change is this' ! From perBecuting 
sinners', to praising saints'^ ! From a vile body', to this 
which shines as the brightness of the firmament' I From a 
sense of God's displeasure', to the perfect enjoyment of him 
in love' 1 From all my fearful thoughts of death', to this 
joyful life' 1 Blessed change' ! Farewell sin and sorrow 
forever'; farewell my rocky , proud , unbelieving heart'; 
my worldly", sensnaF, carnal' heart ; and welcome my most 
holy, heavenly nature. Farewell i-epentance, Oath, and hope; 
and welcome love, and joy, and praise. 

5. I^hall now have my harvest' without plowing or sow- 
ing' ; my joy' without a preacher" or g promise' ; even all 
from the face of God himself. Whatever mixture is in the 
streams, there is nothing but pure joy in the fountain. Hero" 
shall I be encircled with eternity', and ever live", and ever", 
ever praise the Lord. My face will not wrinkle', nor my 
hair be gray' ; for this corruptible shall have put on iocor- 
mption, and this mortal, immortality ; death shall be swal- 
lowed up in victory. O death ! where is now thy Bting'*? 
O grave ! where is thy victory'^? 

6. The date of my lease will no more expire, nor shall I 
trouble myself with thoughts of death, nor lose my joys 
through fear of losing them. When millions of ages are 
past, my glory is but beginning; and when millions more 
are past', it is no nearer endingV Every day is all noon', 
every month is harvest', every year is a jubilee', every age 
is afullmanhood', andallthis'ieoneetemity"''-. Oblessetl 
eternity' I the glory of my glory, the perfection of my per- 

K GcHH^Ie 




A Deacrlptiva Poem, Iambic Uesnue.— OoLiMinTB. 
[A beaatlla] almlle la plctnred In Ihs lut torn llnea.] 

1 . NKut yonder c6pse*, where once the garden smiled, 
And still where many a garden-flower grows wild, 
There, where a few torn shrabs the place disclose. 
The village preacher's modest mansion rose. 

2. A man be was to all the country dear, 
And passing rich, with forty pounds a year; 
Remote &om towns be ran his godly race, 

Nor e'er bad ohanged, nor wished to change, his place. 
Unpracticed he to fawn, or seek for power. 
By doctrines fashioned to the varying honr: 
Far other aims bis heart bad learned to prize — 
More bent to raise the wretched, than to rise. 

3. His bonse was known to all the vagrant^ train ; 
He chid their wanderings, but relieved their ptun. 
The long-remembered beggar was his guest. 
Whose beard, descending, swept his aged breast : 
The ruined spendthrift, now no longer prond, 
Claimed kindred there, and had his claims allowed : 
The broken soldier, kindly bid to stay, 

sate" by his fire, and talked the night away ; 
Wept o'er his wounds, or, tales of sorrow done, 
Shonidered his cmtch, and showed how fields were won. 
Pleased with his guests, the good man learned to glow. 
And quite forgot their vices in their woe; 
Careless their merits or their faults to scan, 
His pity gave, ere charity began. 

4. Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, 
And even his iailings leaned to virtue's side : 
Bnt, in his duty prompt at every call. 

He watched and wept, he prayed and felt for all: 
And, as a bird each fond endearment tries, 
To tempt its new-fiedged offspring to the skies, 

n,<jr.=^-h, Google 


He tried each art, reproved each dull delay, 
Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way. 

5. Beside the bed where parting life was laid, 
And Borrow, guilt, and pain, by turns dismayed, 
The reverend champion stood. At his control 
Despair and anguiBh fled the struggling soul ; 
Comfort came down, the trembling wretch to raise, 
And his last" faltering accents" whispered praise. 

6. At church, with meek and unaffected grace, 
His looks adorned the venerable place ; 

Truth from his lips prevailed with double sway, 

And fools, who came to scoff, returned to pray. 

The service past, around the pious man, 

With ready zeal, each honest rustic ran: 

Even children followed with endearing wile, 

And plucked his gown, to share the good man's smile. 

7. His ready smile a parent's warmth expressed, 
Their welfare pleased him, and their cares distressed : 
To them his heart, his love, his griefs, were given, 
Bnt all his serious thoughts had rest m heaven: — 
As some tall cliff, that lifts its awful form. 

Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm. 
Though round its breast the rolling clonds are spread, 
Eternal sunshine settles on its head. 

' cepBB, or Cfli'pioE J a wood of snull growth. 
*VJ'cR*KT, wandering; nnBalttledi as, » raffraiit beggor. 
< 8iT« (sit), old imp. 0/ M, tor eat. 



1. Sous people think it is something disreputable to be 
too eloquent: the aristocratic world does not like either 
clergymen or women to nmke too much noise ! A very pop- 
ular preacher, who should, in the pulpit, be carried away by 
his fervor for the souls of his flock, who should use an ex- 
temporaneous figure of speech, or too vehement a gesticnla- 

=^-h, Google 


tion, would, by some, be considered as betraying the dignity 
of fais profession ! With snch people Bossuef^ would have 
lost his character, and St. Paul would have run the danger 
of being laughed at as a mountebank ! Walk into that sa- 
cred and well-filled edifice — it is a fashionable church : you 
observe how well cleaned and well painted it is ; how fresh 
the brass nails .and the red cloth seem in the gentlefolks' 
pews ; how respectable the clerk looks — the curate", too, is 
considered a very gentlemanlike young man. The rector* is 
going to begin the sermon : ho ia a very learned man — peo- 
ple say he will be 8 bishop one of these days, for he edited 
a Greek play, and was private tutor to Lord Glitter, 

2. Now observe him — hia voice", how monotonous* I — his 
manner", how cold* !— his fece", how composed' ! yet what 
are his words' ? — " Fly the wrath that is to come. Think 
of your immortal souls. Remember, oh remember ! how 
terrible is the responsibility of life ! — how strict the ac- 
count ! — how suddenly it may be demanded t" Are these 
his words'? They are certEunly of passionate import, but 
they are doled forth in the tone of a lazy man saying, "John', 
how long is it to dinner' ?" 

3. Why, if the calmest man in the world were to ask a 
gamekeeper not to shoot his fevorite dog, he would speak 
with a thousand times more enei^ ; and yet this preacher 
is endeavoring to save the souls of a whole parish — of all his 
acquaintances — all his friends — all his relations — his wife 
(the lady in the purple bonnet, whose sins no man doubtless 
knows better) and hie six children, whose immortal welfare 
must be still dearer to him than their temporal advance- 
ment; and yet what a wonderful command over his emo- 
tions' I I never saw a man so cool in my life. "But, my 
dear sir," says the faHhionahlc purist, " that coolness is de- 
coram ; it ia the proper characteristic of a clei^ynian of the 
Establi^ed Church," Alas ! Dr. Young did not think so, 
when, finding he could not impress his audience sufficiently, 
he stopped short and burst into tears. 

> CD'>in,iaKneUnd, mmLiilBler. oneiiBaallyeniplnjed us sssfiCant to Uie rector. 
° Rn/mm in Rn^laad, Uie dergymau, ui paMor, wliij, baviut; thu leeai care ot a 
paclsb, bas Ihe llcbeti. 





tLoDU Boim>AU>ns (Boot da too'), a Konui Calhaltc prracher of great stoqnenoe ; 
barn lu France In ICaS; died, onlTenaUj legtetted, in 18W> Be TU tbe tKToriie 
preacber of tbe Ung, Loala XIV. Tbe latter part of hla life iraa apent In Tldtiog 
tbe sick and the prisoiia, and In otber irorke of duilt;.] 

1. When we recollect before wliom Bonrdaloue preach- 
ed; that lie had, for bis anditore, tbe most laxnrious court 
in Europe, and a monarch abandoned to ambition and pleae- 
nre, we shall find it impossible not to honor the preacher for 
tbe dignified Bimplicity with which he uniformly held up to 
his audience the severity of the Gospel, and the scandal of 
the cross. 

2. In one of the sermons which be preached before the 
monarch, he described, with matchless eloquence, the hor- 
rors of a licentious life, its abomination in the eye of God, 
its scandal to man, and the public and private evils which 
attend it ; but he managed his discourse with so much ad- 
dress that he kept the king from suspecting that tbe thun- 
der of the preacher was ultimately to fall upon him. 

3. In general, Bourdaloue spoke in a level tone of voice, 
with no gesticulation, and with his eyes almost shut. On 
this occasion, having wound up tbe attention of the mon- 
arch and the audience to the highest pitch, he paused. The 
audience expected something terrible, and seemed to fear 
the next word. The pause continued for some time; at 
length, the preacher, fixing bis eyes directly on his royal 
hearer, and in a tone of voice equally expressive of horror 
and concern, said, in the words of the prophet, "7%om art (Ae 
man!" then, leaving these words to their effect, he concluded 
with a mild and general prayer to Heaven for tbe conver- 
sion of all sinners. 

4. A miserable courtier observed, in a whisper, to the mon- 
arch, that tbe boldness of the preacher exceeded all bounds, 
and should be cheeked. " No, sir," replied the monarch, 
"the preacher has done Ais duty,iet us do ottrs," When 

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the service was oonolnded, the monarch walked slowly from 
the church, and ordered Bourdaloue into his presence. He 
remarked to him bis general protection of religion, the kind- 
ness which he had ever shown to the Society of Jesus, his 
particular attention to Bourdaloue and his Mends. He then 
reproached him with the strong language of the sermon, and 
asked him what could be bis motive for insulting him thus 
publicly before his subjects ? 

5. Bourdaloue fell on bis knees : " God is my witness," 
said he, " that it was not my wish to insult your majesty ; 
but I am a minister of God, and must not disguise his truths. 
What I said in my sermon is my morning and evening pray- 
er: — May God, in his infinite mercy, grant me to see the 
day when the greatest of kings shall be the holieHt." The 
monarch was affected, and silently dismissed the preacher; 
but, from this time, the court began to observe that change 
which afterward, and at no distant period, led Louis to a life 
of regularity and virtue, 



[JoHK BiPTUT ItAMiUAH, ODS Of the mott celelinted of Bomau embolic pnlplt 
OTston ; born In France In IBSB, died in 1T4& Be wu not ODl; great aa a preacher, 
bnt bl> iD*nT Tlrtnes niidei«d bim nnlTenallf beloved, Tbe folloiriDg eitiacc from 
ODB of his sermonB hag been eitolled by Voltaire as eqnal to an j tblog of which 
either andent or modem times can boast. Voltaire InformB a> that when the orator 
prononnced the fallowing paasagee, the whole aHemblj, by a sort of InTolnntary 
mntlan, started np from their seats ; and that ench marnmra of snrprtse asd accla- 
mations arose as disconcerted the speaker, thoagh they Increased the eflbct of his 
discourse. Allhoagh aomelhlng may be lost in the translation, yet mnch of the 
effbct Diuat hare been due — as la all cases of Impassioned oratory — to tbe manner 
of (he speaker, by which be carried the hearts of bis hearera with him.] 

I. Thebb is not, perhaps, a person present who can not 
say of himself, " I live as the multitude — those of my own 
rank, my own age and condition in life ; and am I lost if I 
die thus' ?" What more proper to alarm a soul which has 
any concern for its own salvation' ? Nevertheless, it is the 
multitude that tremble not, and feel no alarm. It is only a 
small number o£ just persona, who work out alone their sal- 
vatiOD wiUi fear and trembling : all the rest are oahn and 

=^-h, Google 


QDCOncemed. Coavinced that the impenitent matUtnde 
must die in their sins, each individual flatters himself that, 
after having lived with the multitude, he shall be distin- 
guished jftwa them at death: he puts himself in the case 
of a prepoBterous exception, and dreams that for him all 
-will be safe, 

2. It is for this reason, my brethren, that I address myself 
to you who are here assembled. I speak not of the rest of 
mankind, but direct my view to you alone, as if you were 
the only beings on earth. Behold the thought which occu- 
pies and appals my spirit. I fancy that your final hour has 
come, and the end of the world — that the heavens are about 
to open above yonr heads — Jesus Christ to appear in glory 
in this temple — and that you are here assembled but to 
await, as trembling criminals, his sentence of pardon, or 
eternal death ; for it is in vain to flatter yourselves — snch 
as you are to-day, such you will die. 

3. Those desires of change which now amuse, will con- 
tinue to amuse you to the bed of death; it is the experience 
of all ages. All of change that you will then find will be 
an account somewhat larger, perhaps, than you would have 
to render to-day. By what you would be, wei-e you to be 
judged this very moment, you may almost certainly decide 
what ieiU be your final doom. 

4. 1 ask you, then — struck with dismay I ask it, not sep- 
arating my own lot from youis, but placing myself in the 
same predicament — I ask yon, if Jesus Christ were to ap- 
pear in this temple, in the midst of this assembly, in jndg- 
ment, and separate the sheep from the goats, think you the 
larger portion of ns here present would be placed on the 
right? Think you there would be ka^? Do you believe 
there would be simply ten righteous, which God once did 
not find in five entire cities? I ask yon — you know not. 
I too am ignorant : thou only, O God I knoweat who are 

fi. But if we know not who belong to Grod,we are at least 
certain that the wicked do not. Who, then, are the right- 
eous in this assembly? Titles, and rank, and riches must 
be reckoned as nothing ; you will all be stripped of them in 


the presence of Jesus Christ. Who, then, are here? Many 
sinDera who will not be converted ; a still larger number 
who would, but delay their conversion ; some who repent 
but to relapse again into sin; and many who think they 
have no need of conversion. These are the classes pf the 
reprobata Retrench these four sorts of sinners from this 
assembly — they will be retrenched at the great day of ac- 
counts. Stand forth now, ye righteous ! Where are ye ? 
Remnant of Israel, pass to the tight! Wheat of the Lord, 
separate from this chaff, destined to unquenchable fire ! O 
my God I where are thine elect, and what remains for thy 
portion I 

LESSON cxxxa 


1. It was one Sunday, as I was traveliug through the 
county of Orange, in Virginia, that my eye was caught by 
a cluster of horses tied near a ruinous old wooden house, in 
the forest, not far from the road-side. Having frequently 
seen such objects before in traveling through these states, 
I had no difficulty in nnderatanding that this was a place 
of religious woraWp. 

2. Devotion alone shoald have stopped me to join in the 
duties of the congregation ; but I must confess that curiosity 
to hear the preacher of such a wilderness was not the least 
of my motives. On entering, I was struck with his preter- 
natural appearance. He was a tall and very spare old man ; 
his head,which was covered with a white linen cap, his shriv- 
eled hands, and his voice, were all shaking under the influ- 
ence of a palsy; and a few moments ascertained to me that 
he was perfectly blind. 

3. The first emotions which touched my breast were those 
of mingled pity and veneration. But how soon were all my 
feelings changed I It was a day of the administration of the 
^orament ; and his subject, of course, was the passion of our 
Savior. I had heard the subject handled a thousand timea.^ 
I had' thought it exhausted long ago. 


4. Little did I suppose that in the wild woods of America 
I was to meet with a man whose eloqnence would give to 
this topic a new and more sablime pathos than I had ever 
before witnessed. As be descended from the pulpit to dis- 
tribnte the mystic symbols, thei-e was a peculiar — a more 
than human solemnity in bia sir and manner, which made 
my blood mn cold, and my whole frame shiver. 

5. He then drew a picture of the sufferings of our Savior 
— his trial before Pilate — his ascent up Calvary — his cruci- 
fixion — and his death, 1 knew the whole history; but never, 
until then, had I heard the circumstances so selected, so ar- 
ranged, so colored 1 It was all new ; and I seemed to have 
beard it for the first time in my life. 

6. His enunciation was so deliberate that his voice trem- 
bled on every syllable ; and every heart in the assembly 
trembled in nnison. His peculiar phrases had that force of 
description, that the original scene appeared to be, at that 
moment, acting before our eyes. We saw the very feces 
of the Jews; the staring, frightful distortions of malice and 
rage. - We saw the buffet: my soul kindled with a flame 
of indignation ; and my hands were involuntarily and con- 
vnlflively clenched. 

1. But when he came to touch on the patience, the for- 
giving meekness of our Savior; when he drew, to the life, 
his blessed eyes streaming in tears to heaven; his voice 
breathing to God a soft and gentle prayer of pardon on his 
enemies — "Father, forgive them, for they know not what 
they do" — the voice of the preacher, which had all along 
ialtered, grew fcunter and fainter, nntil, his atterance being 
entirely obstructed by the force of bis feelings, he raised bis 
handkerchief to his eyes, and burst into a loud and irrepresB- 
ible flood of grief ITic effect was inconceivable. The whole 
house resounded with the mingled groans, and sobe, and 
shrieks of the congregation. 
' 8. It was some time before the tumult had subsided so far 
as to permit him to proceed. Indeed, judging by the nsual 
but fallacions standard of my own weakness, I began to be 
very uneasy for the situation of the preacher; for I could 
e how he would be able to let his audience down 


from the height to which he had wound them, without im- 
pairing the solemnity and dignity of hi^ snhject, or perhaps 
shocking them by the abraptnesB of the £tll. But the de- 
scent was as beautifal and sublime ^ the elevation had been 
rapid and enthusiastic. 

9.' The first sentence with which he broke the awAil si- 
lence was a quotation firom Rousseau : — "Socrates died like 
a philosopher, but Jesus Christ' like a God." I despair of 
giving you any idea of the effect produced by this short sen- 
tence, unless you could perfectly conceive the whole manner 
of the man, as well aa the peculiar crisis in the discourse. 
Never before did I completely understand what Demos- 
thenes meant by laying anch stress on delivery. 

10. Tou are to bring before you the venerable figure of 
the preacher; you are to imagine that you hear his Blo>n', 
solemn, well-accented enunciation, and his voice of affecting, 
trembling melody; you are to call to mind the pitch of pas- 
sion and enthusiasm to which the congregation were raised ; 
and then, the few minutes of portentous, death-like silence 
which reigned throughout the house ; the preacher remov- 
ing his white handkerchief from his aged face (even yet wet 
from the recent torrent of his tears), and elowiy stretching 
forth the palsied hand which holds it, as he begins the sen- 
tence, "Soorates died like a philosopher," then pausing, rais- 
ing his other hand, pressing them both, clasped together, 
with warmth and energy to his breast, lifting his " sightless 
balls" to heaven, and pouring his whole soul into his tremu- 
lous voice as he continues, "but Jesus Christ" like a God!" 
If he had been in deed and in troth an angel of light, the 
effect could scarcely have been more divine. 

11, Whatever Ihad been able to conceive of the sublimity 
of Ma8sillon,or the force of Bo urd alone, had fallen far short 
of the power which I f^lt from the delivery of this simple 
sentence. The blood, which just before had rushed in a 
hurricane upon my brain, and, in the violence and agony of 
my feelings, had held my whole system in saspense, now 
ran back into my heart with a sensation which I can not 
describe — a kind of shuddering, delicious horror I The par- 
oxysm of blended pity and indignation to which I had been 

O 2 

n,<jr.=^-h, Google 


transported, subsided into the deepest self-abasement, humil- 
ity, and adoration. I had just been lacerated and dissolved 
by sympathy for onr Savior as a fellow-creature ; but now, 
with fear and trembling,! adored him as — "a Godl" 

12. This blind preacher has been before my imagination 
almost ever since. A thousand times, as I rode along, I 
dropped the reins of my bridle, stretched foith my hand, 
and tried to imitate his quotation from Rousseau ; a thou- 
sand times I abandoned the attempt in despair, and felt per- 
suaded that his peculiar manner and power arose from an 
energy of soul which nature could give, but which no human 
being could justly copy. 

LESSON cxxxm. 


1. Ix stature majestic, apart from the throng 

He stood in his beauty, the theme of my song ! 

His cheek pale with fervor — the blue orbs atove 

Lit up with the splendors of youth and of love; 

Yet the heart^lowing rapture that beatned iVom those 

Seemed saddened by sorrow, and chastened by sighs. 
As if the young heart in its bloom had grown cold, 
With its loves unrequited, its sorrows untold. 

2. Such language as his I may never recall ; 
But his theme was salvation — salvation to all! 
And the souls of a thousand in ecstasy hung 

On the manna -like sweetness that dropped from hia 
Kot alone on the ear his wild eloquence stole ; [tongue. 
Enforced by each gesture, it sunk to the soul, 
Till it seemed that an angel bad brightened the sod. 
And brought to each bosom a message from God. 

3. O Godl what emotions the speaker awoke! 
A mortal he seemed — yet a deity spoke; 


A man — yet so far from humanity riven; 
■ On earth— yet bo closely connected with heaven; 
How oft in my fancy I've pictured him. there, 
As he stood in that triumph of passion and prayer, 
With his eyes cloaed in rapture — their transient eclipse 
Made bright by the smiles that illumined his lips. 

4. There's a charm in delivery, a magical art, 
That thrills like a kiss from the lip to the heart; 
'Tis the glance, the expression, the well-chosen word, 
By whose magic the depths of the spirit are stiiTcd ; 
The smile, the mute gesture, the soul-startling pause, 
The eye's sweet expression, that melts while it awes — 
The lip's soft persuasion, its musical tone, — 
Oh, such was the charm of that eloquent one ! ' 

■ LESSON cxxxrv. 

Y Cquihihq, D.D.— ])oni at Newport, R. I., la IIEO i died in 1842. 
[The rollowlDg Is a flue example of Uie Hhetorical Figure called RtptiiHim. See 

p. S40. No betler lUiutratloas coald be Ibood of tbe Stb ElocitUaiuiry Rnle. I 

1. T call that mind/ree, -whicli masters the senses'; which 
protects itself against animal appetites' ; which penetrates 
beneath the body, and recognizes its own reality and great- 
ness ; which passes life, not in asking what it shall eat or 
drink', but in hungering, thirsting, and seeking after right- 

2. Tcall that mind free, which escapes the bondage of mat- 
ter'; which, instead of stopping at the material universe and 
making it a prison-wall, pasKes beyond it to its Author, and 
finds, in the radiant signatures which it evei-y where bears 
of the Infinite Spirit', helps to its own spiritnal enlargement'. 

3. / call that mindfiee, which jealously guards its intel- 
lectual rights and powers' ; which calls no man master' j 
which does not content itself with a passive or hereditary 
faith' ; which opens itself to light whencepoever it may 
come' ; which receives new truth as an angel ftxim heaven ; 

r:,,r.=^i by Google 


which, vhile consulting others, inquires still more of the or- 
acle within itself, aod uses instruction from abroad, not to 
supersede', but to quicken and exalt its own energieB\ 

4. J call that mind free, which seta no bounds to its love'; 
which is not imprisoned in itself, or in a sect'; which recog- 
nizes in all human beings the image of God, and the rights 
of his children'; which delights in virtue, and sympathizes 
with suffering wherever it is seen' ; which conquers pride, 
anger, and sloth', and offers itself up a wUling victim to the 
cause of mankind\ 

6. 1 call thai mindjree, which is not passively framed by 
outward circumstances' ; which is not swept away by the 
torrents of events' ; which is not the creature of accidental 
impulse' ; bnt which bends events to its own improvement, 
and acta fixim an inward spring^ from immutable principles' 
which it has deliberately espoused'. 

6. / call that mind free, which protects itself against the 
usurpations of society' ; which does not cower to human 
opinion' ; which feels itself accountable to a higher tribunal 
than man's' ; which respects a higher law than fashion' ; 
which respects itself too much to be the slave or tool of the 
many' or the few'. 

7. IcaM that mind free, which, through confidence in Gcod, 
and in the power of virtue, has cast off all fear but that of 
wrong-doing'; which no menace or peril can enthrall'; 
which is calm in the midst of tumults, and possesses itself, 
though all else be lost'. 

8. 1 call that mind free, which resists the bondage of hab- 
it^ ; which does not mechanically repeat itself^ and copy the 
past'; which does not live on its old virtues'; which does 
not enslave itself to precise rules' ; but which forgets what 
is behind, listens for new and higher monitions of conscience', 
and rejoices to pour itself forth in fresh and higher exer> 

9. J call that mindf^e, which is jealous of its own free- 
dom'; which guards itself from being mei^ed in others'; 
which guards its empire over itself as nobler than the em- 
pire of the world'. 

10. In fine, Z coS 0<i2 mind^,/^, which, conscious of its af- 



finity with God, and confiding in his promieea by Jeaus 
Christ, devotes itself faithfully to the unfolding of all its 
povere'; which passes the bounds of time and death'; 
which hopes to advance forever'; and which finds inez- 
haustible power, both for action and suffering', in the pros- 
pect of immortality'. 



[QiOBOBWHTmiLCB celebrated dlylse, the fbouder of ttieCilvliilitlcHatbodiits; 
bam in BngUnd In 1714 ; died at Newbarrport, New England, In ITTO. He rulded 
In GeorglH el dlOtreat times, and founded there an orphui hoaae, tbrongh collec- 
tlan* obtained br bis prenchinic.l 

1. I>B. Fbanxlin, in his Memoirs, bears witness to the ex- 
traordinary effect which was produced by Mr, Whitfield's 
preaching in America, and relates an anecdote equally char- 
aoteristic of the preacher and of himself. "I happened," 
says the doctor, " to attend one of his sermons, in the course 
of which I perceived he intended to finish with a collection, 
and I silently resolved he should get nothing from me. I 
had in my pocket a handfiil of copper money, three or four 
silver dollars, and five pistoles in gold. As he proceeded,! 
began to soften, and concluded to give the copper. Another 
stroke of his oratory made me ashamed of that, and deter- 
mined me to give the silver y and he finished so admirably, 
that I emptied my pocket wholly into the collector's dish, 
gold and all. 

2. "At this sermon there was also one of our club, who, 
being of my sentiments respecting the building in Georgia, 
and suspecting a collection might be intended, had, by pre- 
caution, emptied his pockets before he came from home : to- 
ward the conclnsion of the discourse, however, be felt a 
strong inoUnatiOD to give, and applied to a neighbor who 
stood near him to lend him some money for the purpose. 
The request was fortunately made to periiaps the only man 
in the company who had the firmness not to be affected by 
the preacher. His answer was, 'At any other time, Friend 
Hodgkinson, I would lend to thee freely ; but not now, for 
thee seems to be out of thy right senses.'" 





In man or womaD, but far most in man, 

And most of all in man that ministers, 

And serves the altar, in my soul I loathe 

All affectation. Tis my perfect scorn ; 

Object of my implacable disgust. 

What ! will a man play tricks ? — will he indulge 

A silly, fond conceit of his fair form. 

And just proportion, fashionable mien. 

And pretty face, in presence of his God? 

Or will he seek to dazzle me with trSpes, 

As with the diamond on his lily hand, 

And play his brilliant parts before my eyes, 

When I am hungry for the bread of life ? 

He mocks his Maker, prostitutes and shames 

His noble office, and, instead of truth, 

Displaying his own beanty, starves his flock. 


1. The beginning of Massillon's funeral oration npon Louis 
the Fourteenth produced a wonderful effect The church 

- was hung with black ; a magnificent mansolcum was raised 
over the bier ; the edifice was filled with trophies and other 
memorials of the monarch's past glories ; daylight was er- 
cluded,~but innumerable tapers supplied its place, and tlie 
ceremony was attended by the roost illustrious persons in 
the kingdom. 

2. Jfassillon ascended the pulpit, contemplated, for some 
moments, the scene before him, then raised his arms to 
heaven, looked down on the scene beneath, and, alter a 
short pause, slowly said, in a solemn, subdued tone, " God 
ONLY 18 GREAT !" With One impulse all the auditoi-y rose 
from their seats, turned to the altar, and slowly and revei- 
ently bowed. 

r:,,r.=^i by Google 

lArutlyti*.—!. How Poiisi msy be deacrlbed. Its two leading 6\v\aoo»,SIi.ymi 
and Blank Vent.— 2, B, *, Exunplei of each (torn Yonng auS Pope.— & In -nbat ri" 
specie tbeee ezanipleB are alike. How poetry ia a gnide to the prouanelatian of 
proper names. (IllnBliatione.)— S. Tbe metrical principles on whlcb EngKsb poetry 
19 based. (Extended lIlaBtratlons Id note.] Poetic pauses.— T. Wliere tbe prindpal 
oesQ'ral paasB falls.— 8. UlustnitloflB of Uie oeea'ral pause.— B. Variety of rbjmlng 
poetry In oar Isngaage. Id other lang[i^s.--ll); Tbe most Important claasiflcatioii 

of poetry 11. Pastoral Poetry described 1!. Lyilc Foetry IB. An Epic Poem 

14, Dramatic Poetry.] 

1. PoETET may be described as measured or metrical lan- 
guage — that which Is governed by certain rules forthe com- 
bination of accented and unaccented syllables. Of the two 
leading divisions of poetry, Rhyme is that fonn in which 
there is not only a measured arrangement of words and syl- 
lables, but also a recurrence of similar sounds at the end of 
certain lines ; while Blank Verse is that poetry which de- 
pends upon measure alone to distinguish it from prose, each 
line being composed of ten alternate short and long sylla- 
bles — the second, fourth, sixth, eighth, and tenth being ac- 

2. In tbe two following examples, taken from two emi- 
nent poets, it would be difficult to say which is the more 
poetical, although one is in blank verae, and the other in 


3. The bell strikes one. We take no note of time" 
But from its loss' : to give it then a tongue~ 

Is wise in man. — As if an angel spoke, 

I feel the solemn sound. If heard aright. 

It is tbe knell of my departed hours' ! 

Where are' they? With the years beyond the flood. 

I , C.CHH^Ie 


It is the signal that demands dispatch : 

How much is to be done' I My hopes and fears 

Start up alarmed, and o'er life's narrow verge 

Loot down — on what' ? A fathomless abyss' 1 

A dread eternity' t how surely minel 

And can eternity belong to me', 

Poor pensioner on the bountiea of an hour'? — Young, 


4. Ask for what end the heavenly bodies shine' ; 

Earth for whose use' : Pride' answers', " Tia for mine'. 
For me' kind Nature wakes her genial power, 
Stickles each herb, and spreads out eveiy flower; 
Annual, for me, the grape", the rose", renew 
The juice nectareous, and the balmy dew' : 
For me the mine a thousand treasures brings' ; 
For me health gushes from a thousand springs; 
Seas roll to waft me', suns to light me rise', 
My footstool" earth', my canopy" the skies'." — Pope. 

5. In both of these examples there are ten syllables to a 
line, when read in poetic measure — the same number in the 
blank verse as in the rhyming poetry; and in both cases. 
With one or two minor exceptions, the lines are composed 
of alternate unaccented and accented syllables. All poetry 
has a regular system of accentuation, differing, in rhyming 
poetry, according to the different kinds of verse ; and as 
none of it can he read with ease or elegance without ^ving 
it the right metre or rhythm, it follows that, when proper 
names are contained in it, their correct pronunciation is easi- 
ly determined, inasmuch as all great poets are supposed so 
to arrange all such words that each will receive the right 

, ■ Thng, ftom thB foUQwlng siamplea, It will be Been that we muse pronouncB 

GJn'o a (gon'wa}, Gra nil'da, Ga li'Sls, Ar Is toph'a iie^ Men e li'iiB, le'a ra^ etc. : 

"How quick they carved their yictlmB, fltifl how weU, 

Let Saxony, let lnjnred Ottua tell."— Moomt 
" Grajiadii aaghi it lu berUoorleh hall, 

OaUria h^de her children flght or fall."— Soopt. 
"The Mnses, ^ebing Tor a shrine 
Whcwe Klo'lo ne'er ahoold ceua, 


8. In Englisli poetry all syllables may be regarded as be- 
ing accented or unaccented; each line contains a certain 
number of poetic /"eei", the divisions of which correapond to 
bars in muBio ; a certain number of connected syllables 

Fomid, BB the; Btrared, tbe BOnl dlvlns 
OtA ristapAonei."— MiBivALi. 
"The hero ceased, and Blleacs atill preralled, 
Till warlike Jfencloiu thoa replied."— Cowm's JTIbd. 

■'The different kinds ot Teres are named sccordlufi to the airangement of long 
and idiort ejllBlilee In > line, and thalr dlvlsloos Into nhat are (Mlti paetin /ttt. 
The; ate called feet, becanee It is by their aid that the voice etepe through the Teres 
In a meaanred pace. All aylUblea Bra either accented or anaccented. ^e dUTerent 
poetic f«et, which are elUierottwo or oT three itjllsblea, may be represented h7 the 
mirkB lot the long and abort sonnda ; the fanner denoting tbe aeeenCed, and the 
latter tbe uiBccented syllBhles. 

lam'bna, ■.< — aB,ba^»7. ■ Dae'tTi, w as, rSg tt lEr. 

Tro'ebee, " bOldnHBi. Au'apeet, ■^^— '• IntSrTSne. 

Spon'des, — - " jdle sOna. Am'phl brach, v " dS tSr mine. 

PyrThlQ, — w '■ BnlL Trl'brBeh, — ^ " meaB-B rS blS. 

or these several poetic leet, Ihoee most need In Engllab are the lamlios, the Tro'- 
tbee, tha Dae-tji. and the An'apeet, but eacb la (bnnd in llneB of different length. 
Tbe BDverslkinda ere not alwaje kept pure and distinct. It Is onl; of one or mors 
of these ronr khide that s poem ot an; length can be whoDj or In great part formed ; 
and according aa either ma; preiall, the tbibb la called t am'trie, Tro ehd'ie, Ana- 

SSfliabieB. HSw bright Asseen 

TbS light. At night 1 

4 Syllables. ThBlr l«Te | Snd &we 1 J1nh«ard, | BnkaSwn, 

Silpplj I thS law. I HS mskee | his moan. 

«S7llablfli. BiaellgbtlnlngsQBgelthBwaye, 

and thunld^r tSads | thS rSck. 
SSrllablea. Thsjeye;sb«Te| EretmidSreteod, 
ini T«i;ighed 6nnf by \ the gtod. 
lOSjilahleB. WlthaSIISmnadlBrSIUondOmillhiijcSat > Englieh 

THeir ctOwnB, | InwSre | with un|llninth | End gOid./ Heroic Versa. 
ISSyllsbleB. Thj^ rfialm | (fir «v|ei-IilatB, j thr 3wn| M6eeT|ihrSlgne. 
MSyllableB. T]^ LSrd | desc«ii|dSd l»m | ibJlTe, | Snd b«w'd | thB Eem[Bm high. 

II. rtna nooHa'io TixeB. 
iByilablea. Fancf { viewing, I ChUdrSn | chtose It, 

JofBenlBOIng. I DSutreiraeelt. 

t Syllables. Singing | tbiMgh thE | reiSsts, ShGoUng ] undSr | IrcbSe, 

BatUlng I Hvit 1 rldgca, BAmbllug | Svur | brldgOl. 

SBjltablea. While 1 1 nCddM, | nearif | nipping, 
snddenllf there ] ame i | upping, 
Xe M I Bime ane | gsntlf | ripping. 

10 SjlWilee. TIrtlle'B | brrghfuing | riy shili I beam Or \ 6T6r. 

11 Sjllables. Sn K | mOnntaln, { etr«tch'd beinSath >• | bSai^ | wllUtw, 

Uj 1 1 BhiphBrd I iwUn, Hnd 1 view'd the | rSlliug | bOltiw. . 



forming a foot in the one, as a certain number of notes make 
a bar in the other. In each line, also, are ceitain poetic 
pauses, -which the good reader naturally makes without in- 
struction, because he finds them necessary for preserving 
the melody. These pauses are the final pause, which is a 
slight pause at the end of a line, whether the sense require 
it or not; and one or more slight cavtl'ra^ panses in the har- 
monic divisions of the line. 

7. The principal ctesll'r^ pause in English heroic verse 

tSjUablea. Frte fi«m aifltK^r, I BlrdOrthSI 

care iDd iulIStr. I BlIQieaanie Snd | cumbirlCiit. 

D Srllables. Er^r ilng | mSirilf | nrirrilj'. 
IS Sjllables. BISya wfll InlUdpite, | livtuh Bnd | dIeflpSta 
M nd lib ^ aU thit yCnr | bSaf pll« { hGafdSd witb | cSre -, 
dnt'iK^iU I ^^ ^ "^^ I '3o'Ib>"i'^ I P^BBlon.&id ! rardlshness, 
Ibi (wi. J Chiirge fia tAOt \ cli[iillBliD^ | apDrctiig Tdnr | prfly'r. 

Laap'd like UiE | rSe nbSa ll \ bSare In IbE ] wfiodUiiid tbS { vCice it 

e S^nablei. n nm mSninrcb etUl 1 1 Bilrver, 
I'iJi^e' lUf T^ht 1 tb^ie Is uSiiB I tB dIspGU. 

rwith K ISbp I nnd ILbOnad 1 th3 sntft InjIpSMa tbrtDE.I 
la SvllablM J '^*'""'''' * l^lfinSee lUM's mate, | tbSre-s B Bl|iei>« thsi spaaks, 
\i.l tat eMae \ Bf thS day, 1 vihia tbS b£m|]Et Is MilL 
Id >ii7 of tbe tbrsKOlDg epedea of poetrr, a line may have, tram a deHcleDcy in 
some one metrical taat, a ayliabie more or a gjliabie lew Uian the reqnldte nnmber. 
Spon'deea, pyr'rbics, am'pblbraehs, and tri'bcstbg are also Bometimea bnaght in, tn 
Irregniar forms of poetry ; bat wben we pais beyood the fOnr establiehed kinds of 
poetic meaanre, (he verse becomes dlfflcnit of eiecnUon, and is generatly inbarmo- 
nione." But eee eieeptinn in "Alecander't Femt," j S3B, which la mainly, however, 
In Umblc measDre. Tbe tolloviing Is a good specimen of veree Cbat la mostly am- 
phi trfoeh'ic ; 

" Bilt Tilnif I tbOn vriirBst : 
FSr Ibis la I BiOne Id 
™^';'j IV pflwer I » I dSclSre, 

^ TbBt In thS | dim (SrBet 

Tbfla hiard'Bt i, \ IKv mAaDlsg, 
And BSw-at B | bright ildy | sIlrplaslDglljl HI 

■ ii,Gi:H)(^Ie 


falla, moBt melodiously, after the 4th, 5th, 6th, or Vth sylla- 
ble ; and it is foand that the farther the pause is removed, 
the more is the melody changed, from a brisk and spirited 
movement, to one of coDstantly increasing gravity. A good 
poet will strive so to constract his verae that the pause of 
melody will always coincide with the pause of sense. 

8. The following philosophical verse, in Iambic measure, 
Iiappily illustrates the several positions of the principal 
ctesu'ral pause, which requires only a verp slight suspension 
of the voice. Here it falls twice ailer the ninth syllable: 


"Nature to all things | fix'd the limits fit, 
And wisely curb'd | proud man's pretending wit : 
As on the land | while here the ocean gains, 
In other parts | it leaves wide sandy plains : 
Thus in the soul, | while memory prevails. 
The solid pow'r of understanding | fails ; 
Where beams of warm imagination | play. 
The memory's soft figures ] melt away." — Popk. 

9. The variety of rhyming poetry in our language is very 
great. Sometimes the rhyming lines are in couplets ; some- 
times the first and third, and the second and fourth lines, 
rhyme ; and sometimes the rhyming lines are at a consider- 
able distance from each other. In Greek and Latin, rhyme 
is almost unknown; in French and Italian, there is hardly 
such a thing as blank verse ; while in English, both forms 
are nearly alike prevalent. 

10. It has often been said that there may be poetry which 
is neither in blank veree nor in rhyme ; and we sometimes 
find prose so measured in its cadence, and so much raised in 
its tone, as to contain nearly all the essentials of poetry — 
as in the English translation ofOssian. Beantiiul thoughts, 
and elevated and refined sentiments, are also often spoken 
of as of the essence of true poetry; and in this sense there 
is much truth in the following views, so happily expressed 
by our own poet Willis : 

11. "There is poetry that is not written. It is living in 



the hearts of many to whom rhyme is a mystery. As I here 
use it, it is a delicate perception ; aomething wbicli is in the 
natnre, enabling one man to detect harmony, and know 
forms of beauty, better than another. It is like a peculiar 
gift of vision, not creating a new world, but making the 
world we live in more visible ; enabling us to combine, and 
separate, and arrange elements of beanty into the fair pro- 
portions of a picture. The poet hears music in comipon 
aonnds, and sees loveliness by the wayside. There is not a 
change in the sky, nor a noise of the water, nor a sweet hu- 
man voice, which does not bring him pleasure. He sees all 
the light and hears all the music about liim — and this is po- 

12. The most practically important classification of po- 
etry is that which is baaed upon the character of the sub- 
jects of which it treats. These, beginning with the most 
simple and natural forms, and ascending to those that are 
the most dignified, are pastoral, lyric, epic, and dramatic 
poetry, in addition to narrative, descriptive, and didactic, 
which have already been referred to. 

13. Pastobai. Pobtby, from the Latin wordpoator, a shep- 
herd, originally meant that poetry in which the scenes and 
objects of a shepherd's life are celebrated or described ; but 
the term is now generally applied to all poetry descriptive 
of rural objects and scenes — such as are commonly the de- 
light of childhood and youth ; and to which, in more ad- 
vanced years, most people recur with pleasure. Nothing 
seems to flow more readily into poetio numbers than de- 
scriptions of rivers and mountains, meadows and hills, flocks 
and trees, and the quiet joys of country life. The best spec- 
imens of pastoral poetry are the Bucolics of Vii^, Thom- 
son's Seasons, and most of Walter Scott's poems. 

14. Lyrio Poetry, bo called from the lyre, an important 
musical instrument of the ancients, embraces all poetry in- 
tended to be set, or that might readily be set to music. The 
subjects of which it treats may be extremely various, con- 
sisting, however, of sentimenta rather than of actions ; and 
it is written in a more bold and passionate strain than 
would be suitable in rimple narration. It includes the bal- 

n,<jr.=^-h, Google 


lad, Bongs, odes, sonnets, pBalme, hymns, eto. The PsalniB 
of I>avid, the odes of An&c'reoa and Horace, and many of 
the shorter poems of modem poets, are examples of this kind 
of composition. As it expresses all varieties of sentiment 
and feeling, it employs, for its varied parposes, all kinds of 
poetic measure. 

15, An Epic Fobh is tho recital of some great enterprise 
in a poetical form, in which some distinguished hero bears a 
conspicuous part ; and its object is to excite admiration by 
great and noble deeds, and thereby inspire a love of virtue, 
bravery, jnstice, fidelity, and truth. In an Epic poem wo 
look for every thing that is sublime in description, tender 
in sentiment, and noble in action. The great Epic poems of 
the world are the Il'iad and Od'yssey of Homer, the ^ne'id 
of Virgil, the Jerusalem Delivered of Tasso, and the Paradise 
Lost of Milton. 

16. Drauatic Poetby, which is always founded upon a 
regular plot or story, contains no narrative on the part of 
the.poet; but every thing is supposed to be spoken or per- 
formed on the stage, by the several actors or characters who 
are introduced. Hence it is always in the form of dialogue 
or soliloquy. Of this poetry there are two divisions, Tretg- 
edy and C&tnedy, both designed as an exhibition of men and 
manners ; but while the former treats, principally, of the loft- 
ier passions, and the greater vices, successes, and distresBes 
of mankind, the latter is limited to an exhibition of their 
whims, fancies, foibles, and follies. Shakapeare is considered 
the greatest of dramatic writers. 

LESSON cxxxvm. 

1. The effects produced upon the ear by different binds 
of poetic measure are well illustrated in the following ex- 
tract, in which the short-stepping, firm, and abrupt move- 
ment of the words of one and two syllables in the first four 
lines, is happily contrasted by the sprightly, graceful, and 
gaSoping movement of those of three or more syllables in 

■ r:,,r.=^ihyG00gle 


the last half of the veree. In reading this poetic illustration 
of poetic measureB, the voice can hardly fail to give the true 
expreseion to the rhythmical character of the lineB. 

2. " Now clear, pure, bright, and one by one, like to hail- 


Short words Jall &om the lips, fast as the first of a 
shower ; 

Now in a twofold column. Spondee, Iamb, and Trochee, 

TJnbroke, firm-set, advance, retreat, trampling along : 

Now with a aprightller Bprightliness, bounding in trip- 
licate syllables, 

Dance the elaatic Dactylics in musical cadences on ; 

Now their voluminous coil, intertangling like huge 

Rolls overwhelmingly onward the sesquipedalian* 
words." — ^W. W. Story, 

3, The following description of the leading English meas- 
ures of poetry illustrates the same principles as the forego- 
ing, and shows that each kind of movement has a character 
of its own, adapted to particular kinds of poetic composi- 
tion. English heroic verse", and nearly all Pastoral, Epic, 
and Dramatic poetry, are written in lines of Iambic meas- 
ure, with only au occasional variation, by the seemingly 
chance introduction of a foot of some other r 

CEngllBh Heroic Verse. Iambic UeBan re. 1 

4. The proud heroic", with its pulse-like beat, 
Rings like the cymbals, clashing as they meet ; 
The sweet Spensenan°, gathering as it flows. 
Sweeps gently onward to ite dying close. 
Where waves on waves in long succession pour, 
Till the ninth^ billow melts along the shore. 

5. The lonely spirit of the moumfullay', 
Which lives immortal in the verae of Gbat, 
In sable plumage slowly drifts along, 

On eagle pinion, through the air of song ; 


The glittering lyric' bounds elaBtic by, 
With Qaebiag ringlets and exulting eye, 
While every image, in her airy whirl, 
Gleams like a diamond on a dancing girl. 

O. W. Holmes. 

■SfBaniFinl'LULtr, meunriiig ■ toot tndabal!; BomeUmea hmnotonsl; q>pUed, 
u Id ttiis cue, to long worde. 

■ £nglleli heroic verge cooHisls often ejIlableB to ttie line, mtwt ceperBllj irholl; " 
of Iambic meaeore, wllb, rarel;, a line of sleren ajllablea. Soinetlmee, alio, vbea 
tbe sa))Jecl is sncb tbat a d^ree of pomp and aolemDltr Is proper, ttae vane cloeea 
witb allneoftweWeayllables, called an Jlmondrftie Km; bo named becanae It wm 
themelrelDwblcli tbeberole deeds of Alexander tbeOreat ■-•-—--> 

•The ^wnwrftiB Jtania, which derlTOe Ilanaine frjm thai tona of varea In wbldi 
Spenser's Faerj Qneen ma written, conslsla of nine Iambic linee, the flnt eight be- 
ing Berolu, and the ninth an Alexandrine. It ii the fOrm adopted by Thomeon, 
and Beattle, and by Byron In hia Childe Haroia, etc. 

' The ninth and closing line of the aUnza. 

•Asong: a species of narrative poetry ; aa, "The loj of Ow L*St SUnBtI«l,"by 

' Bee Lj/jic Poetry, page 3S2. 


BpeaseilaD Stanu. Iambic Ueaanrs. — Biattic. 
Hum BuTTia, LL-D. [Scotch pron. Bil'^, a mnch lulmtred poet, and a dlsthi- 
gnisbed moral phlloBopher, bom in Scotland In ItSB ; died In 180S. His principal 
works are an "Essay on Tmth," "Evidences of Christianity," "Elements of Morst 
Sdance," and his celebrated dldacUc poem, "The Ulnstrel," ftom which the billow- 
ing extract Is taken.] 

1, Ah I who can tell how hard it is to climb 

The steep where Fame's proud temple shines afar" I 

Ah ! who can tell how many a sonl sublime 
Has felt the influence of malignant star, 
And waged with Fortune an eternal war; 

Check'd by the scoff of Pride, by Envy's frown, 
And Poverty's unconquerable bar, — 

In life's low vale remote has pined alone. 

Then dropp'd into the grave, nnpitied and unknown' I 

■ ii,Gi:H)(^Ie 


2. And yet the languor of inglorione days 

Not equally oppressive ia to all; 
Him who ne'er listened to the voice of praise 

The silence of neglect can ne'er appal 

There are, who, deaf to mad Ambition's call, 
Would shrink to hear the obstreperous trump of Fame ; 

Supremely bless'd if to their portion fall 
Health, competence, and peace. No higher aim 
Had he, whose simple tale these artless lines proclidm. 




[Joim SBVCDr, oTie oftfae most celebnled of BngUBli po«ti,b3mln leSt; dledio 
lim. He wrote nnmeronB pIsfB aod bbiM i na n prose nriter be eicelled In crlU- 
clsm 1 he woe nneqiisled In sstlrs ; while the Bplrit, ftvedom, grace, and melod; of 
bla verBlflcatlon remain almost. If not who]];, idtliimt a rival. Hla deecriptlaa ot 
"Alexander^ Feast," whlcli Is dealgaed to Iljtutiate tbe power of miude, la baaed 
on tba following historic beta:] 

1. While Alexaoder wan engaged in his foorth campaign for the con- 
quest of Asia (331 B.C.). the city of Feraep'olis fell into bis hands, an 
event which he celebrated bj a feast, at which tbe great masician Ti mo'- 
theua of Thebes performed on the Ante and the Ijn, accompanied bj a 
choma of singers. Snch was the wonderful potver of bis mnaic, which 
seenia to have been extemporized for the occadon, in the manner of the 
modem Tronbadonrs, that the whole company are said to hare been swayed 
by it, at the will of the performer, to feelings of lore, or hate, or t«reiige, as 
if by the wand of a magician. 

2. The poet Diyden has pictnred forth diis musical scene in what baa by 
some been called " the lyric masterpiece of English poetij," and by others 
"an inspired ode," The metre of the poem is constantly changing throogli 
a wide range of iambics, trochees, anapests, pprhtca, dactyls, and spondees ; 
and while the poet sings the triamph of niuic, his poetiy is also a complete 
triompfa of poetlcaJ akUl. 

8. " Although there are scarcely two lines alike in accentnation, yet the 
whole seema as spontaneons as the cries of alarm and consternation excited 
by the bacchanal orgies described." Only partial extracts from this poem 
can here be given, but th^ are sufficient to show the wouderfal varitty of 
hannoniOQS versification of which the English language is capable in the 
hands of a master. We have divided each line into the mttre in tphich it 
should be read', and this marking will furnish the pupil a good exercise in 
painting out the numerous kinds of metrical feet which the poem contains. 

r:,,r.=^i by Google 

POETICAL coitposvnos. gat 


4. Twfe 5t I tU royl&l fBast, | ffir Perjala w6q 
BJPhlllfp'B war]Hke son: 
Aloft I In aw|fftl state 
ThS 1 godlike | herfi | satf 
Oil Ms I Impe|rtil throne : 
His valjiliiit peers | w6re pl&ced | Urofind, 
ThSir brows | with ro|a68 ind | with myr|tI5a boiuih 

{So shoflld I dSsert | in arms | b6 crowned). 
ThS lovejlj Thais", | hf his side, j 
Sat like I & bloom|lng East|6ni brfde, 
In flower | fif yoflth | Snd bea6|tj'8 pride. 
HappJ', I happj", | happj^' | pwr" ! 
None 1 biit thS fo-Stie', 
None' \ bfit th§ brave, 
N3ne bm' | th6 brSve' | dSserre |" th« fair'. 
6. Here, and also at the close oT each maskal recitation, the compaof 
of aingera join in the eong, and repeat the last four lines In chorna. In the 
second diviuon of the poenti Tinio'theus is represented aa sin^ng the praises 
of Jupiter, when the crowd, carried awaj by the enthusiasm with which the 
music had inspired them, proclum Alexander a ddty! The monarch ac- 
cepts the adoradon of his subject*, and ' ' assumes to be the god. " 

6. Th6 list'|nlng crowd | Admire | th6 lof |ty sound : 
"A pr5s5nt | dSltf 1" | thfiy shout | &r6und : 

"A present | deltj^ I" | thS T5ult|6d roofe | rSboond. 
With ravjlshed ears 
Th6 mdn|!Lrch h6ars, 
Assftmes | th& god, 
Affects 1 1« nod^ 
And seems 1 15 shake | thS sphSres. 

7. Tits pnuses of Bacchus and the jo^s of wine being neM song to die 
MHind of trumpetB and the beat of drums, the effects npon the king are de- 
■cribed ; and when the martial strmnj had Gred bis soul almost to madness, 
the master nmstcian adroitly changes the spirit andineasura of his-song,and 
usaccessfbUyaUays thetempestofpasaiottwhichhisBkillhadrused. Thia 
soothing measniB and its effects are thna described in the fourth diriaon of 
the poem. 


8. So5thed | with thS sound, | th6 king I grew vSin ; 

Fought all I hia bat|tI58 6'er ] &gain ; 
And thrice | bS rout|6d aU j hIa fdefi;| itnd thrice ] he 
sldw I thS slSin. 

I* n,<jr.=^-h,Google 


Thfi maaltfer b5w | thS mad|n8sa rise ; 
Hfe glSwlIng cheeks, [ hla ar|d6nt eyes ; 
And, while 1 h6 Heaven 1 Itnd Earth | d6ited. 
Changed | Ms hand, | iind checked [ his pride. 
H5 chose | & mournlflil Mflse, 
Soft pit|J-lo|lnf1lBe-. 
H6 aflng | Diri]tis, great | &nd good, 

BJ too I s6vere \ i fate, 
FaUSn', I faU^n", 1 mi6n\ | faU6n',l 
Fallen' I frfim his | Mgh | Sstate, 
And welt'ring | In hla bl5od; 
D5Bert|6d, at | his at|m6Bt need, 
Bf those I Ms for[m5r hSnnjtJ^ fed ; 
On th5 I bare earth | Exposed | h6 lies, 
With not I & friend j t6 close | Ha eyes. 
With downlc&at looks | th5 joyjlfiss vic]tflr sat, 
R6volv|lng in | hla al[tSred soul 

Th6 va|rio«8 turns 1 8f Chance | b616w; 
And,nOw | ind then, | & sigh | h6 Bt51e, 
And teara 1 bSgan [ t6 flow. 

9, The next theme of tlie maucian is love, which is nearl; allied to, and 
which DMnraU; ibllowB pity; and under the soothing influence of the 
"softly sweet" "Lydian measares," the monaich sinks into a elumber, 
fhno which & change in the mosic to a discordant strain aroasee Mm to 
feelings of rerenge.aa the unger draws a pictare of the Fniies, and of tlM 
Gieeks " that in battle were Blain." 


10. Now strike | thS g6ld]Sn If re \ Sgain ; 

A load|&r yet, | Snd yet I & idudjSr strain. 
Break his { hands fif j sleep {klsandSr, 
And rdoae him | like {t ratltUng peal | df thfinld^r. 
H&rk I hark 1 1 thS horjrld adand 

Has raised | flp bis head, 
_ As aVaked I fr&m th& dead, 
And, amazed, | h6 stares \ aronncL 
BSySnge 1 1 r6venge 1 1 Tlm6|the(is oriei, 
SSe thS snakes | that th&y rear ! 
Hdw thSy hiss | In th^ir hair, 


And thS Bpar|kl§B thB,t flSsh | Mm tMir ejes I 
BShoM I & ghastjl^ hiad, 
£ach & t5rch I In hie hand I 
ThSee i&re Gre|ci&n ghoeta, { th&t lnbat|tl§ wSre elSin, 
And iiiibOr|i6d rSmain, 
Iiiglo|riofia on | th§ plain : 
Give th& vengel^ce due 
• 16 th5 vftl|ant cr6w. 
BShoia 1 hfiw thSy toss | thSir t6rch]5a 8n high ! 

H6w thSy point 1 16 thS Perjaiin ibodes, 
And glTt|t6ring | templCs | 6f thBir hosltUe gods ! 
Th5 prin|c68 Applaud, | with & ffl|riotl8 joy ; 
And thS king | seized & flamjbeail with zeal j t{J dSstroy ; 
Tha|la led | thS way, 
T6 light him 1 16 Ma prey, 
And, like | &noth|6r Hel|6D, fired | SnothlSrTroy' ! 

11. The serenth aadlasc diTision of the poem, dropping the description 
of the musical scene at the feast, draws a coatraat between tncieut and 
modem masical art. 


[Wtollj Iambic.] 

12. Thus, long ago, 

Ere heaving bellowa learned to blow, 

While organs yet were mute, 
llmo'thens, to his breathing 3ute 
And sounding lyre 
Coald swell the soul to ri^, or kindle soft demre. 
At last divine Cecilia came, 
Inventress of the vocal frame^; 
The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store, 
Enlarged the former narrow bounds, 
And added length to solemn sounda, 
With Nature's mother wit, and arts unknown before. 
Let old Timotbeua yield the prize. 

Or both divide the crown ; 

Se~ raised a mortal to the skies ; 

She~ drew an angel down, 

* WUle Id Latin the qaiatlty of all BiDablra 1b flied, In EngHeh, numMtdloUu nuqr 
genersHy be prononnced either loag or ehort ; ibat Is, either accenUd or nnucenled. 
Uanj dtoa;Uai>l««. also, m*T be eltbulongor short! bat In irordi of tlitee or more 

r:,,r.=^i by Google 


srllablea tb« qnantftr (tceent) la fbr th« most put Invariable. Tbe iirtlcle CAc is one 
of the tew moDoiftlableB that I« inTariably short ; and when the metre reqalrea K 
to be accented, It la belter to eacrlAce Uie metre than to violate the more Important 
principle of accent or qnantlty. Thna, In the fblloiring example of beiolc verse 
(rom-Pope, If we eonsidsi that the metre l« BtrlMly Iambic, and give llie accent ac- 
eotdlDgl;, we Bbill blsely accent tA< ajid and In the aecond and tblid lioeg, thus: 

In reading Engllih vene, the correct paDses and accents are ofmacb greaterlm- 
portanca than an arbilrarj piESBrvallon of the metre; and, as a general rule, every 
word in poetrj Bhonld have the iBme accent that It bas In prose. But where tbe 
true metre of ibe verse may he bvored without departing too widely trom general 
usage, It should be done ; as the accent ma; often be corniinmifaKi between two or 
more syllables of a word, aa In the fciltovriDg lamblclioe, la nhlcb the proper accent 
of tupreme' may be changed, to preserve tta metra. 

"Tbey 111 1 ia piIoliA, wUm I tU idlpriiDi llD(." 

Bnt care ehonld tw taken, tn reading verse, not to ma^e tbe accent too considCD- 
ons OD tbe smaller and nsnally nnaccented wards, merely because Un metdcal ac- 
ceot alls npon tbem. Thus, In the following line, 

"Tiriaitl tUnilil Dul. I nil F»l A wu," 
ths wold of sbonld take a lighter accent than the flist syllable In rpy'al. 
• • Jnpltar often Indicated hla Will by a nod, at which Olympns shook to Its basa ; 
and here Alexander affects to act the god I 

■ 4'b!'is was a celebrated Athenian beanty. who accompanied Alexander Is hia 
tiipadltjon. She is said to have iDStlgated blra, on this occasion, to set Are to tbe 
palace ofPersepoll^ijitendlng lo barn the entire clly; and Iha skill of the poet is 
here shown !n comparing tier to Helen, whose (ilal beanty cansed the downteU of 
Troy 85S years before. 

' An alliislon to the report that Cedlla was the invanlieoB of tbe organ. 



An eiCraet from the gnat Athenisn comic poet Ar is t^pb'a n£e, wbo was bom 
abont 444 years belbre Christ 

1. In the "Address to the CloudB," given on the next page, 
is pictured a series of the most Bablime images, colored with 
all the rainbow hues of the poet's fancy. We are led, in 
imagination, to behold the dread clouds, at first sitting, in 
glorious majesty,upon the time-honored crest of snowy Olym- 
pus, the seat of the gods — then in the soft dance beguiling 
the nymphs "'mid the stately expanse of old Ocean" — then 
bearing away, in their pitchers of sunlight and gold, " the. 


mystical waves of the Nile," to refresh and fertilize other 
landB; at one time sportiog on the foam ofliake Mm o'tis, 
and at another playing around the wintry snmmits of Mi- 
mas, a monntain range of Ionia. 

2, In the response which they make, in grand choras, the 
Eye of the Ether — the Spirit of the Air — is here represented 
as beaming upon the Clouds, which have come up, over 
night, ^m the Ocean, and down from the mountain sum- 
mits, to rest upon the plain ; and as the morning sun, in bll 
his glory, breaks upon them, they sail away heavenward, 
" with their garments of dew," to gaze upon the scene of 
beauty below. The whole picture is ono of unmistakable 
grandeur and sublimity. 

[In this apoetrophe t 

nnd virtety. The trai 

OreeJc. It Iji pat In en 

Come fbrth, come tOrthj je dread Cloada, and to earth yonr glorlona maJea(T ahnw- 

WheUwr Ughll; ;e rnt on the tim»-honored crest ofOlympiiE enilroned hi anow, 

Or tread the boR daace 'mid the atslel; expante of aid Ocean, the nj^pha to hegnlle, 

Or stoop to enlbld, with jonr pllchera of gold, the mystical waraa of the Nile, • 

Or around Uie white foam of Mteo'tls ye roam, oiUl'maaall wlntrr and bare, 

1 bear while ne praj, and tnin not awa; from the rites which Toorserruita prepare. 

Clouds of all hue, 
Now rise we aloft with our garments of dew. 
We come from old Ocean's unchangeable bed, 
We come, till the mountiun'e green summits we tread, 
We come to the peaks with their landscapes untold, 
We gaze on the earth with her harvests of gold, 
We gaze on the rivers in m^esty streaming. 

We gaze on the lordly, invincible sea, 
We come, for the Eye of the Ether is beaming, 
We come, for all Nature is flashing and free. 
Let ns shake off this close-clinging dew 
From our members eternally new, 
And siul upward the wide world to view. 
Come away I Come away 1 

=^-h, Google 



A Ljric . Iambic meuure.— Collinb. 
[WitLijOi CoitiM, bom In Bneland Id ITM ; died In IJM. At the tge of hrentj' 
tour he wept to London, t. literary adventurer; but hiB porer^ wa greatly in the 
w»r ot his Bnceeeii. To tbe dlegrace of the age, hia Odes were ntterlj neglected. 
He wie at length reltered by a legacy ; bat be langnlabed aome years under great 
meotal depreulon, and waa for a time an Inmate of a lunAtlc aaylum. The fallow* 
lug, amoDg bla odea, la aneurpasBed In vivid Imagination, and hl^h poetle bellng 
and dlctloo.] 

1. How Bleep the brave, who sink to rest 
With all their conntrjr's wishes blessed ! 
When fiprug, with dewy fingers cold. 
Returns to deck their hallowed mould'. 
She there shall drees a sweeter sod 
Than Fancy's feet have ever trod. 

2. By &iry hands their knell is rung\ 
By forms nnseen their dirge is sung' ; 
There Honor comes, a pilgrim gray, 
To blesB the turf that wraps their clay"; 
And Freedom shall a while repair" 

To dwell"", a weeping hermit, there. 

3. What a quantity of thought is here condensed in the 
compass of twelve lines, like a cluster of rock-crystals, spark- 
ling and distinct, yet receiving and reflecting lustre by their 
combination. Tbe stanzas themselves are almost nnrivaled 
in the association of poetry' with picture', pathos' with fan- 
cy', grandeur' with simplicity', and romance' with reality'. 
TTie melody of the verae leaves nothing for the ear to de- 
sire except a continuance of the strain, or, rather, the repe- 
tition of a strain which can not tire by repetition. 

4, The imagery is of the most delicate and exquisite char 
acter: Spring decking the turfy sod, J^wcy'a feet treading 
upon the flowers there, faiTy hands ringing the knell, unseen 
forms singing tbe dirge of the glorious dead ; bnt, above 
all, and never to be surpassed in picturesque and imaginative 


beauty, Honor, as an old broken eoldier, coming on a far pil- 
grimage to visit the shrines where his companions in anns 
are laid to rest; and Freedom, in whose cause they fought 
and fell, hastening to the spot, and dwelling (but only for 
" a while"), " a weeping hermit there"." — Montgombjbt, 

• These are among the moat b«uitlAil and glrUdng ezamplea otpervmifieatbrn that 



At BslaklKTB, October Wtb, 18S4.— RoBBILi. 
tit was on the ittlh of Oclobsr, 1864, daring the " Criro&an War," while th« oppm. 
IngBosalan amlea on Ihe one side, and the FieDch aoaSiigtiBh on the olher, were 
mcunped near the village of BalakliTi, s Bnseian pnrt on the northern shore ofthe 
Black Sea, that the erenls commemorated la the following four leaeona took place. 
Of can men composing the brigade, ani; ISO retained ftom the charge. Flret we 
baTe theorlglnsl accoantof [he "Charge," as written' on the ground by BuBBell. of 
' the London Tlnies; and then the poetic rerslons byTennjaon and Hope, followed 
b;the ")laTs1,''aa drawn hjArchhishop Trench, of Dublin.] 

1, It appears that the qnartermaster general, Brigadier 
Airey, thinking that the light cavalry had not gone far 
enough in front when the enemy's horse had fled, gave an 
order in writing to Captain Nolan, 15th Hnssars, to take to 
Lord Lucan, directing his lordship " to advance" his cavalry 
nearer to the enemy. A braver soldier than Captain Nolan 
the army did not possess. He rode off with his orders to 
Lord Lucan. 

2. When Lord Lucan received the order from Captain No- 
lan, and had read it, he asked, we are told, "Where are we to 
advance to ?" Captain Nolan pointed to the line ofthe Rus- 
sians, and said, " There are the enemy, and there are the 
guns, sir, before them ; it is yonr dnty to take them," or 
words to that effect. Lord Lucan, with reluctance, gave 
the order to Lord Cardigan to advance i^ion the guns, con- 
ceiving that his orders compelled him to do so. The noble 
earl, though he did not shrink, also saw the fearful odds 
against them. Don Quisote, in his tilt against the wind- 
mill, was not near so rash and reckless as the gallant fellows 
«ho prepared without a thought to rush on almost certain 



3. It is a mazini of war, that " cavalry never act withoot 
a Bupport," that " infantry shonid be close at hand wfaes 
cavai^ ctarj guns, as the effect is only instantaneous," and 
that it is necessary to have on the flank of a line of cavalry 
some squadrons in colomn, the attack on the flank being 
moat dangerons. The only support our light cavalry had 
was the reserve of heavy cavalry at a great distaoce behind 
them, the infantry and gune being fer in the rear. There 
were no squadrons in column at all ; and there was a plain to 
charge over, before the enemy's guns were reached, of a 
mile and a half in length. 

4. At ten minutes past eleven our light cavalry brigade 
advanced. The whole brigade scarcely made one effective 
regiment, according to the numbers of Continental armies, 
and yet it was more than we could spare. As they rushed 
toward the front, the Rfissians opened on them from the 
guns in the redoubt on the right with volleys of musketry 
and rifles. They swept proudly past, glittering in the morn- 
ing sun in all the pride and splendor of war. 

5. We could scarcely believe the evidence of our senses! 
Surely that handful of men are not going to chaise an army 
in position? Alas! it was but too true. Their desperate 
valor knew no bounds, and far indeed was it removed from 
its so-called better part — discretion. They advanced in two 
lines, quickening their pace as they closed toward the ene- 
my. A more fearful spectacle was never witnessed than by 
those who beheld these heroes rushing to the arms of death. 

6. At the distance of 1200 yards the whole line of the en- 
emy belched forth from thirty iron mouths a flood of smoke 
and flame, through which hissed the deadly balls. Their 
flight was marked by instant, gaps in our ranks, by dead 
men and horses, by steeds flying wounded or riderless across 
the plain. The fir^t line is broken* — it is joined by the sec- 
ond — they never halt, or check their speed an instant — with 
diminished ranks, thinned by those thirty guns, which the 
Russians had laid with the most deadly accuracy — with a 
halo of flashing steel above their heads — and with a cheer 
which was many a noble fellow's death-cry, they flew into 
the smoke of the batteries ; but ere they were lost from view 



the plEun was strewed with their bodies, and with the car- 
Ciwes of horses. 

7. They were exposed to an oblique fire from the batteries 
on the hills on both sides, as well as to a direct fire of mas- 
ketry. Through the clouds of smoke we could see their 
sabers flashing as they rode up to the guns and dashed be- 
tween them, cutting down the gunnera as they stood. To 
our delight, we saw them returning after breaking through 
8 column of Kfissian infantry, and scattering them like chafi*, 
when the flank fire of the battery on the hill swept them 
down, scattered and broken as they were. Wounded men 
and dbmounted troopers flying toward ns told the sad tale. 
Demigods could not have done what they had failed to do. 

8. At the very moment when they were abont to retreat, 
an enormous mass of Lancers was hurled on their fiank. 
Colonel Shewell, of the 8th HusBars, saw the danger, and 
rode his few men straight at them, cutting his way through 
with fearful loss. The other regiments turned, and engaged 
in a desperate encounter. With cburage too great almost 
for credence, they were breaking their way through the col- 
umns which enveloped them, when there took place an act 
of atrScity without parallel in the modem warfare of civil- 
ized nations. 

0. The Russian gunners, when the storm of cavalry pass* 
ed, returned to their guns. They saw their own cavalry 
mingled with the troopers who had just ridden over them ; 
and, to the eternal disgrace of the Russian name, the mis- 
creants poured a murderous volley of grape and canister on 
the mass of struggling men and horses, mingling friend and 
foe in one common ruin. It was as much as onr heavy cav- 
alry brigade could do to cover the retreat of the miserable 
remnants of the hand of heroes as tiiey returned to the place 
they had so lately quitted. At thirty-five minutes past 
eleven, not a Briti^ soldier, except the dead and dying, was 
lefl in front of the Russian guns. 

■ The " bletorlc preeeat," wMch 1> here IntradoGed, la sIwhtb ottbe uataie otvitiim. 
<Bee page ass.) It U ^ more ImpreaBlTe than uBitaUye In Uie past tense. See Uie 
line lue ahlch 1b made of this flgnis by Webster, psga SOS. It gbonld be emplt^ed 

=^-h, Google 




Dactjllc Heasnn.— TxmiiBon. 
[The leading mesBiin hen la doe^'le, which. Id iu oioTeinent. la apeclallr adapt- 
ed to the BTenla described. Thna, nothing could b« more nUnrally anreeatiTe of the 
regular gallop of cavalrj than Ihe tmitatlTe meaaore ortheflnttwo hues of Uw flret 
Tene, iDd of the Ont (bni llnea of the third and fifth veraea.] 

1. Half a league, half a leagne, 

Half a league onward, 
All in the valley of Death 

Rode the six hundred. 
" Forward, the Light Brigade I 
Charge for the guns' !" he said ; 
Into the valley of Death 

Rode the Bix hundred. 

2. "Forward, the Light Brigade' !" 
Was there a man dismayed ? 
Not though the soldiers knew 

Some one had blundered ! 
Theirs not to make reply, 
Theirs not to reason why, 
Theirs but to do" and die : — 
Into the valley of Death 

Rode the six hundred. 

3. Cannon to right of them, 
Cannon to left of them, 
Cannon in iVont of them, 

Volleyed and thundered ; 
Stormed at with shot and ^ell, 
Boldly they rode, and well ; 
Into the jaws of Death, 
Into the mouth of Hell, 

Rode the six hnndred. 

4. Flashed all their sabers bare, \ 
Flashed as they turned in air, 

|.,G(HH^fij '^ 


SaVriDg the gnnneTB there, 
Ch&rging an army, while 

All the world wondered : 
lounged in the battery-amokc, 
Right throagh the Une they broke ; 
CoBsack and Rflssian 
Reeled from the saber-stroke, 

Shattered and Bundered. 
Then they rode back — bat not, 

Not the six hnndred. 

5. Gannon to right of them, 
Cannon to left of them, ' 
Cannon behind them 

Volleyed and thundered; 
Stormed at with shot and shell, 
While horse and hero fell, 
They that had fought so well 
Came through the jaws of Death, 
Back from the mouth of Hell, 
All that was left of them — 

Left of six hundred. 

6. When can their glory fade ! 
Oh, the wild charge they made I 
* All the world wondered. 
Honor the charge they made 1 
Honor the Light Brigade, 

Noble six hundred ! 
• Ths taiitoTlc preaeot, whlcb li nacd onlf twice In tbis idec«. 



TrocJiaic Heunre.— Jaich Bikkoh Hofi. 

[Here uiothar antbor, In describing the aame scenes, amn the bvcfaf <e metmn, 

wU^ movlBg sttsdil; forward witb the ilrengtb alwsjs ladleatsd by abrupt lbrc«. 

teedw adipted to trample down all opposing obatades ; bnt It Is waotlDK Id that 

gnc«nil gknoplng marsmenl wblcb ii duracterliUc of Uie dkctrUc Tbe hiBtorle 

r:,,r.=^i by Google 


rethui tbe blBtoric put Let the pujdl point out Uw M 

enldumgn fr 

1. Dashinq onward, Captain Kolan 

Spnrritig furiously is eeeo — 
And although the road meandetB, 
HiB no heavy steed of Flanders, 
But one fit for the commanderB 

Of her Majesty the Qaeen. 

2. Halting where the noble squadrons 

Stood impatient of delay, 
Out he drew his brief dispatches, 
Which their leader quickly Bnatches, 
At a glance their meaning catches — 

They are ordered to the fray. 

3. Brightly gleam six hundred sabers, 

And the brazen trumpets ring: 
Steeds are gathered — spurs are driven— 
And the heavens wildly riven 
With a mad shout upward giverij 

Scaring vultures on' the wing. 

i. Onward ! on ! the chargers trample. 
Quicker falls each iron heel. 
And the headlong pace grows faster; 
Noble steed, and noble master! 
Rushing on to red disaster, 
Where the heavy cannons peal ! 

6. In the van rides Captain Nolan, 
Wide his flying tresses wave, 
And his heavy broad-sword flashes 
As upon the foe he dashes — 
Ah 1 his face turns pale as aehea. 
He has ridden to his grave. 

6. Down he fell, prone from his saddle. 
Without motion, without breath ; 



Never more at tramp to wak* — 
He, the very first one taken 
Prom that bongh bo sorely shaken 
In that vintage-time of death. 

7. In a moment, in a twinkling, 

He was gathered to his reet, 
In the time for which he'd waited ; 
With bis gallant heart elated, 
Down went Nolan — decorated — 

With a death-wound in his breast. - 

8. Onward still the sqaadrons thunder, 

Knightly hearts were theirs, and brave 1 
Men and horses withont number 
All the furrow'd ground encnmbei', 
FalliDg fast to their last slumber — 

Bloody slumber — bloody grave ! 

9. Here a noble charger stiffens, 

There his rider grasps the hilt 
Of his saber, lying bloody 
By his side, upon the muddy 
Trampled ground, which, darkly ruddy, 

Shows the blood that he has spilt. 

10. And the sleepers — ah! the eleepei's 

Made a Westminster that day, 
'Mid the seething battle's lava ; 
And each man who fell shall have a 
Proud inscription, BalaMava, 

Which shall never fiide away. 

11. Of that charge at Balaklava — 

In its chivalry sublime — 
Vivid, grand, historic pages 
Shall descend to future ages; 
Poets, painters, hoary sages 

Shall record it for all time. 

by Google 





Trochsic MeMnre.— Abobbmhof Tjkwob. 

[Tbe cbtrge of tfae Light Brl[;iide nai ETldmtlj a blander— a recklm. uid,lTi n- 

mllituy point orrlevia lueleBe wule of lift; but Ibe IblloirtDg refiectioiu are de- 

1. Haht a deed of fiitlifitl daiingmaj obtain no lecord here. 

Wrought wbere none could see or note it, save the one Almighty ner. 

S. Man; a deed a while remembered, ODt of memoi; needs mast fill, 
CoTered, ai ths yean roll onward, by cAUvioo'e creeping pall : 

5. Bat tbere are which never, never to oblivion can givB room, 

Till in flame earth's records perish — till the thnnder-pesl of doom : 
4. And of these, through all the ages married to immortal bme. 
One ia linked, and linked forever, Balaklavs, with thy name. 

6. O our brother* that ate sleeping, weaiy with jour great daj's strife 
On that black Crimean beadland, noble prodigals of life — 

6. Eyes which ne'er beheld yon living, these have dearly mourned jon dead, 
All ;onr squandered wealth of valor, all the lavish blood ;e shed. 

7. In onx tjea tbe tears are sprjnfpng, bat we bid them back again ; 
None shall say, to see m weeping, that we bold jour oflaring vain : 

6. That for nothing, in our sentence, did that hoiocanst arise, 
With a battle-fleld for altar, and with jon for sacrifice. 

9. Not for naaght ; to more than warriors armed as jou (br mortal &aj. 
Unto each that in life's battle waits bis Captaiu's word, je saj : — 

10, "What bg dutg's voke it biddai, thrre where dulif'i ifar may gtade, 
Thiihtr foltovi, Mat accomplUk, tehattoteer tite btlide." 

11. This ye taught : and this yoar lesson, solemnly, in blood je sealed ; 
Heroes, martyrB, are tbe harvest Balaklava'a h^gbla shall yield. 

Possessions vanieh, and opinions change, 

And passion holds a fluctuating seat ; 
Bat, BDbject neither to eclipse nor wane, 

Duty remains, — Wobsswobtb, 

,.=^1 by Google 



Whbn it was rumored that the old Duke ofWellington 
was about to marry the yonng and rich heiress, Miss Ange- 
lina Burdett Contts, some wag wrote the following: 
"The dnke must in his second childhood be, 
Since in his doting age he turns to A B C." 


The following very happy anagram was written by Wil- 
liam Oldys himself, the well-known bibliographer, and found 
among his manuBcripts after his death: 

" In word and will I am a inend to yon, 
And one Mend old is worth a hundred new." 

ni. Johnson's sttlb. 
Dr. Johnson is noted for the high-sounding words which 
he nsed, and the pompons style of all his writings. Gold- 
smith remarked to him one day, " Doctor, if you were to 
write a fable about Uttle fishee, you would make them all 
talk like whales." 


Lord Brougham was noted for the satirical, wEupish man- 
ner with which he treated his opponents in debate. Syd- 
ney Smith, on seeing his carriage go past, having on the 
panel the letter B, surronnded by a coronet, remarked to a 
friend, " There goes a csiriage with a B outside, and a M>a*p 



v. BLtTB INK, 

Tou ask me, Edward, wliat I think 
Of this new fasliionablo ink' ? 

m answer briefly, Ned. 
MetliinkB it will be always blue; 
At all events, when used by yon. 

It never will be~ red, 


In England, riveiB are all males — 

For instance, Father Thames: 
Whoever in Columbia sails, 

Finds them ma'amselles or damea. 

Yes, there the softer sex presides, 

Aqnatic,I assure ye; 
And Mra Sippy rolls her tides 

Responsive to Miss Sonri, 


As late the Trades' Unions, by way of a show, 
O'er Westminster Bridge strutted five in a row, 
"I feel for the bridge," whisper'd Dick, with a shiver; 
"Thus tried by the mob, it may sink in the river." 
Quoth Tom, a crown lawyer, "Abandon your fears; 
As a bridge, it can only be tried by itapiers." 


The following anecdote, although a pun upon words, is 
sublime in thonght and language: 

A gentleman had been engaged in a duel : the ball of bis 
antagonist struck his watch, and remained there. The watch 
was afterward exhibited, with the ball remaining in it, in a 
company where Judge Parsons was present. It was re- 
marked by several that it was a valuable watch. "Yes," 
said Parsons, " very excellent ; it haa &<pt Time from Bter- 



i^EssoN cxlthl 



Ded&nttrei ItepetlUoo. 

Thbbb'b not a flower that decks tbe vale. 

There's not a beam that lights the moimtain, 
There's not a shrub that scents the gale, 

There's Dot a wind that stirs the fountain, 
There's not a hue that paints the rose. 

There's not a leaf aroand us lying, 
But in its nse or beauty shows 

God's love to us, and love undying t 


"Wouldst thou live long? The only means are these, 

'Bove Galen's diet, or Hippoc'rates' : 

Strive to live well ; tread in the upright ways, 

And rather count thy actions than thy days ; 

Then thou hast fived enough amongst us here ; 

For every day well spent I connt a year. 

Live well, and then, how soon soe'er thou die, 

Thou art of age to claim eternity. 

But he that outlives Nestor, and appears 

To have passed the date of gray Methuselah's years. 

If he his life to sloth and sin doth give, — 

I say he only was — he did not live. 

ni. "now" and "then." 

^ Declarative: Repetlttoa. 

"-ffW is the syllable ever ticking from the clock of time. 
"Nmo" is the watchword of the wise. "A^ow" is on the 
banner of the prudent. Let us keep this little word always 
in our mind ; and* whenever any thing presents itself to us 
in the shape of work, whether mental or physical, let us do 
jt with all our might, remembering that "JVbw" is the only 
time for ns. It is, indeed, a sorry way to get through the 



world by putting off a duty till to-morrow, saying, " 7%e»" 
I will do it. " No ! this will never answer. "Ifoa" is onrs ; 
" Men" may never be. 

rV. C0M8CIEM0E. 

He that commitB a ain, shall quickly find 
The pressing gnilt lie heavy on his mind ; 
Though bribes or favor should assert his cause, 
Pronounce him guiltless, and elude the laws : 
None quits hitnte^: his own immortal thought 
Will damn, and conscience will record the &ult. 

ApoatTophs. InUnogaUan and BxcUnution — A. Ai,EiAirDim. 
Oh, precious Gospel I Will any merciless hand endeavor 
to tear away irom our hearts this last, this sweetest conso- 
lation' f Would you darken the only avenue through which 
one ray of hope can enter' 1 Would you tear from the aged 
and infirm poor the only prop on which their souls can re- 
pose in peace'? ,Wouldyou deprive the dying of their only 
source of consolation' ? Would you rob the world of its 
richest treasure'? Would you let loose the flood-gates of 
every vice, and bring back upon the earth the horrors of 
superstition, or the atrocities of atheism' ? Then endeavor 
to subvert the Gospel' ; throw around you the fire-brands 
of infidelity' ; laugh at religion, and make a mockery of fu- 
turity' ; but be assured that for all these things' God toiS 
bring you into judgment . 

Aportcophe. Intemgatloii and Ei<!lBiiiBUon.-AiwiT. 
Oh death! darkhourto hopeless unbeliefl hourto whidi, 
in that creed of despair, no hour shall succeed t being's last 
hour 1 to whose appalling darkness even the shadows of an 
avenging retribution were brightness and relief— death 1 — 
what art thou to the Christian's assurance ? Great hour ! 
answer to life's prayer; great hour that shall break asunder 
the bond of life's mystery ; hour of release from life's bur- 



den ; hour of reunion with the loved and lost — ^what mighty 
hopes hasten to their fulfillment in thee 1 What longinge, 
what asp irations, breathed in the still night beneath the si- 
lent stars ; what dread emotions of curiosity ; what deep 
meditations of joy; what hallowed impossibilities shadow- 
ing forth realities to the sonl, all verge to their consnmma- 
tion in thee I Oh death ! the Christian's death I what art 
thon but a gate of life, a portal of heaven', the threshold of 
eternity ! 


CTbe preaomluuics of tbe anapettic roeBiara In Me poem eItsi it iti tight, tlDg- 
•angmoTemeDtillke tlinlltiLeeeouXIIL,p.OB. 

. Tbe poem codbIbIs of seeming]; cool and careless, bnt really trimical reaectlons 
upon the timnerotis Crimea with which oor DewapsppTs teem, — now become Ko com- 
mon that they almost toil to atrike as as any thing "out of the way;" and It 1b only 
when some great catntrophe occnrs, or some crime comes Denter home to db thau 
nsiial (llkethst allnded to by tbe writer at the close of the poem), that vrearastsnlHl 
DDt otonr apathy.] 

1. NoTHrao at all in the paper to-day ! 

Only a mnrder somewhere or- other, 
That nobody thinks is out of the way, — 

Only a man killing his brother; 
Or a drunken husband beating a wife, 

With the neighbors lying awake to listen. 
Scarce aware be has taken a life, 

Till in at the window the dawn-rays glisten : — 
Bnt that is all in the regular way — 
There's nothing at all in the paper to-day. 

2. Nothing at sftl in the paper to-day ! 

To be sure there's a woman died of starvation, 
Fell down in the street — as so many may 

In this very prosperous Christian nation : 
Or two young girls, with some inward grief 

Maddened, have plunged in the inky waters; 
Or a father has learned that his son's s thief— 

Or a mother been robbed of one of her daughters; 

I , GoiH^Ie 


llings diat occur in the regular w»j — 
There's nothing at all in the paper to-day. 

3. There's nothing at all in the paper to^ay, 

Unless you care about things in the city — 
Hov great rich rogues for their crimes must pay 

(Though all gentility cries oat " pity 1") 
Like the meanest shop-boy that robs a tili 

There's a caae to-day, if I'm not forgetting, 
The lad only " borrowed," as such lads will — 

To pay some money he lost in betting. 
Bnt there's nothing in this that's out of the way — 
There's nothing at all in the paper to^y. 

4. Nothing at all in the paper to-day 

But the births and bankruptcies, deaths and mar< 
Bnt life's events in the old survey, [riages, — 

With "Virtue b^ging, and Vice in carriages; 
And kindly hearts under ermine gowns, 

And wicked breasts under hodden gray ; 
For goodness belongs not only to clowns, 

And o'er others than lords does sin bear sway — 
But what do 1 read' ? — "Drowned' I wrecked' 1" Did I Bay 
There was nothing at all in the paper to-day' P 


A. ITuntiTe Poem. Iambic mBuon. 
Vnt )«aRilng« of parental affection are beantlfDlly partraTed In tlie IbUowliig 
toneUug ftOTj, In vbkh a bther and mother, atrnggllng In poTertf to aappott a 
Omilj of aerea cbUdren, are repieiented aa reixMog, CDoMderlng. and relecttng 
Um tempting uSer of aboiueaud land. If ths^wllIglTe awajons child, -which thej 
mar Klect, oat of tbo b«vcd. For a dmllu itorr, with a like mwal, lee Ffflk 
Kradir, J,. Ite.] 

I. "Which shall it be? which shall it be?" 
I looked at John — John looked at me. 
And when I fonnd that I must speak, 
My Toice seemed strangely low and weak : 

■ ii,Gi:H)(^Ie 

" Tell me again what Robert Bwd !" 
And then I, list'ning, bent my head. 
" This is liis letter ; 

'I wOl give 
A house and land while yoa shall live, 
If, in return, from out your seven, 
One child to me for &ye is gtven.'" 
I looked at John's old garments worn, 
I thought of all that John had borne 
Of poverty, and work, and care. 
Which I, though willing, could not share ; 
Of seven little children's need, 
And then of this, 

" Come, John," sMd I, 
" We'll choose among them as they lie 
Asleep ;" so, walking band in hand, 
Dear John and I surveyed our band. 
Rrst to the cradle lightly step|>ed, 
Where Lilian, the baby, slept, 
A glory 'gainst the pillow white ; 
Softly the father stooped to lay 
His rough hand down in loving way. 
When dream or whiaper made her stir. 
And huskily he said : " Not her — not her,'- 

We stooped beside the trundle-bed. 

And one long ray of lamplight ahed 

Athwart the boyish faces there 

In sleep so pitiful and fair; 

I saw on Jamie's rough, red cheek, 

A tear uodried. Ere John could speak, 

" He's but a baby, too," said I, 

And kisBed him as we hurried by. 

Pale, patient Robbie's angel face 
Still in bis sleep bore soffering'g trace : 

r:,,r.=^i by Google 


"No, for a thousand crowns, not him," 
He whispered, while onr eyea'were dim. 

6. Poor Dick t bad Dick 1 our wayward son, 
Turbnlent, reckless, idle one — 
Conld he be spared ? " Nay, he who gave 
Bid us befriend bim to the grave ; 
- Only a mother's heart can he 
Patient enough for such aB he ; 
And so " siud John, *' I would not dare 
To send him from her bedside prayer." 

J. Then stole we softly up above, 
And knelt by Mary, child of love. 
" Perhaps for her 'twould better be," 
I said to John. Quite silently 
He lifted np a curl that lay 
Across her cheek iu willful way, 
And shook his head. " Nay, love, not thee i" 
Hie while my heart beat audibly. 

8. Only one more, our eldest lad. 

Trusty and truthful, good and glad — 
So like his father. " No, John, no — 
I can not, will not let him go." 

0. And so we wrote, in courteous way, 
We could not drive one child away ; 
And afterward toil lighter seemed, 
Thinking of that of which we dreamed, 
Happy in truth that not one face 
We missed from its accustomed place ; 
Thankful to work for all the seven. 
Trusting the rest t^ One in Heaven I 

Thbbb ia, in earth, no blessing Uke affecticFD : 

It Eoodies, it hallows, derates, snbdoee. 

And bringetb down to eaith its natlTB hraraiL — L. E 





Hoatlj Dsct^riE. 

Anotalilg sismple otAllati/m. See p. 123 Thdhas Hood. 

"Drowned 1 drowned I" — Bamlii, 
V'Briige itf SigM' 1b tbe Duse popnlul; glrea to tbe covered pisugB-war wUeli 
eonnectB tbe doge'apB]u«,lnVenlce,«ltli the public prlBOus, from the clrcDmiUmce 
Uut the condemned prUouen were traneported over this bridge rrom the hall of 
Jndf^ent to the place of eiecatlDn. To tbem It VM tralj A tridge of ligki. fiir (heir 
pseeige oTer 11 «u the eitlDCllon ofill earthlj hopes. Hood, in using Iha name bi 
the Utie of the fallowltig poem, would heighten the coloring of the picthre h^asiio- 
dating, In oar minds, the sad bte of the anknown ■'unfortDnB(e"with Ilut of Ihe 
condemned eiimlaale of Venice. The " ollaaion" here is a Ane eiampJe of the tin- 
ptwd almlle. Bee p. ISa. To the reader of Shahapeare, the qnoUtlon from Hamlet, 
lecalling, as it doea, tbe llhe manner of tbe death of the gentle Ophelia, Is also a 
hippT anaaioa.] 

]. One more nnfbrtanflte, 
Weai7 of breath, 

Gone to ber death ! 
Take her np tender!/, 

Lift her with care ; 
Fashioned so elenderly. 

Young, and eo&irt 

3. Look at her garments 
Clinging like cerements ; 
While the wave constantly 

Drips from her clothing ; 
Take her np instantly, 

LoTJDg, not loathintt- 

8. Tonch ber not BcomAilly ; 
Think of her mournfully. 

Gently and humanly. 
Not of the st^ns of ber ; 
An that remmns of her 

Now is; 

4. Hake no deep scnitiDy 
Into her mutiny 

Baah and nndntifol ; 
Past alt dishonor. 
Death has left on her 

Only the beantifnl. 

Still, fbr all slips of hers. 
One of Eve's bmily — 

Wpe those poor lips of bera 
Oozing so clammily. 

6. Loop np her tresses 

Escaped from the comb — 
Her fair anbam tresses ; 
While wonderment goesses 

Where was her borne' 7 

6. Who was her father' ? 

Who was her mother' ? 
Had she a sister' i * 

Had she a brother'? 
Or was there a deam one 
S^ and a nearer one 

Yet, than all other' ? 

7. Alast (brtberari^ 
Of Christian cbari^ 

Under the snni 
Ohl itwu[Htifiai 
Near a whole 0101 foil. 

Home she had none. 

S. Sisterly, brotherly, 
^Fatherly, motherly 
FeelingB had changed : 

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Love, by harBh eridence, 
Thrown frora iw eminence, 
Eron God's proridence 
Seeming estranged. 

9. Whore ^e himpB quiver 
So far in the rirer, 

With manj a light 
From window and casement, 
From garret to basement. 
She Blood, with amazement, 

HoosdeM b; night. 

10. The bleak winds of March 

Made her tremble and ahirer ; 
But not the dai^ arch, 

Or the black flowing river : 
Mad from Ufa's hi«(ory, 
Glad to death'g mjmer}', 

Swift to be hurled 
Anj where, anj where 

Out of the world! 

11 . In she plnnged boldly — 
Ho matter how coldlj 

The rough river ran — 
Over the brink of it!. 
Picture it — think of it ! 

Lave in it — drink of ic, 
Then, if you can. 

12. Take her np tendarly. 

Lift her with care ; 

EaAioned so denderl/, 

TouDg, and so &ir ! 

13. Era her limbg, frigidly, 
Stiffha too rigidly. 

Decently — kindly — 
Smooth and compOH them ; 
And her eyes — close tbem, 

Staring so blindly 1 
Dreadfully staring 

Through muddy impurity, 
Aa if with the daring 
' Last look of despairing 

Fixed on faturi^. 

1 4. Perishing gloomily, 

Spurred by'contiimely. 
Cold inhumanity 
Burning insanity 

Into her rest ! 
Cross her hands humbly. 
As if praying dumbly, 

Ovw her breast I 
Owning her weakness, 

Her evil bebnrior. 
And leaving, with meekness, 

Her rina to her Saviorl 


[TbU celebrated poem, which waa long attrifanted (o AddtKm, on secount of Ha 
having been pnbllshed uionjnianstr In "The 8i>ectator,"wliicb was edited bf Ad- 
dison, was writlen by Andrew MarveL He was bora at Bull, flng., Id ino ; died in 

1. Tas spacious firmament on high, 
With all the blue ethereal sky, 
And spangled heavens, a shining frame, 
Their great Original proclaim : 

by Google 


Th' unwearied ^n, &om day to day. 
Does his Creator's powers display, 
And publishes, to every land. 
The work of an Almighty band. 

2. Soon as the eTening shades prevail, 
The moon takes up the wondrous talc. 
And, nightly, to the list'ning earth. 
Repeats the story of her birth: 
Whilst all the stars that round her bum, 
And all the planets in their turn. 
Confirm the tidings as they roll, 

And spread the truth from pole to pole. 

3. What though, in solemn silence, all 
Move round the dark terrestrial ball ? 
What though nor real voice, nor sound, 
Amid their radiant orbs be found? 

In reason's ear they all rejoice. 
And utter forth a glorions voice. 
Forever singing, as they shine, 
"The hand that made us is divine." 



[Bcra Hontliig, NooD, and NigbC are penonlfled, and m&de allegorlcBl ol the 
threo Be»eon8 of life— Yontli, Manhood, and Old Age. Let the pnpU «how why the 
piece, ae » whole. Is neither a rimlls nor ■ metaphor. 

What are meant bjr "golden nieBdow«,"and"'aowerjalotB,"in the flirt Terse F 
What plctnre of life Ib presenled In the second vene F Wbat Is meant b; the "flich- 
GrlngUght^'lntbetUnlTene! B;"Nlghtcallshlinr etc] 

1. MoBH calletb fondly to a fair boy straying 
'Mid golden meadows, rich with clof er dew ; 

She calls — but he still thinks of naught save playing, 
And so she smiles and waves him an aiUen I 

Whilst he, still merry with the flowery store. 

Deems not that mom returns no more. 


n,<jr.=^-h, Google 


2. Koon Cometh — ^but the boy, to maDhood growing, 

Heeds not the time — ^he-seea but one eweet form, 
One young, fair face from bower of jftBtnine glowing, 

And all bis loving heart with bliss is warm. 
So noon, unnoticed, seeks the western shore, 
And man forgets that noon returns no more. 

3, Night tappeth gently at a casement gleaming 

With the thin firelight fiickering fwnt and low. 
By which a gray-haired man ia sadly dreamiog 

Of pleasures gone, as all life's pleasures go. 
Kight calls him, and he leaves hu door 
Silent and dark — and he returns no more. 




"At dead of night, 
In sullen silence stalks forth Pebtii^nce : 
Contagion, close behind, taints all her steps 
With poisonous dew : no smiting hand is seen ; 
Ko sound is heard ; but soon her secret path 
Is marked with desolation : heaps on heaps 
Promiscaona drop. No friend, no refiige near ; 
All, all is false and treacherous aronnd, 
All that they touch, or taste, or breathe', is Death t" ' 

AntllhaUe. Dldictie. 
The hiffh' and the low^, the rich' and the poor\ approach, 
in point of real enjoyment, mnch nearer to each other than 
is commonly imagined. Providence never intended that 
any state here should be either completely happy' or en- 
tirely muerable^. If the feelings of pleasure' are more nu- 
merous and more lively in the higher departments of life, 
each also are those of pain'. If greatness flatters onr van' 



ity', it multiplies onr danffera\ If opulence increaBes oar 
gratificationa', it increaseB, in the satne proportion, our de- 
sires and demands'. If tlie>poor are coufiued to a more 
narrow circle, yet within that circle lie most of thoBe nat- 
ural satisfactions which, after all the refinements of art, are 
found to be the most genuine and true. 


The traveler, freighted with a little wealth, 
Sets forth at night, and wins his way by stealth: 
"E'en then he fears the bludgeon and the blade, 
And starts and trembles at a rush's shade ; 
While, void of care, the beggar trips along, 
And, in the spoiler's presence, trfiUs his song. 

SalHaqar. InterrosBCian and EicIaniaUoii. 

1. "Alas!" exclaimed a silver-headed sage, "how n 
is the utmost extent of human eoience' ! — how circumscribed 
the sphere of intellectual exertion' 1 I have spent my life in 
acquiring knowledge ; but how little do I know' I The fai^ 
ther I attempt to penetrate the secrets of nature', the more 
I am bewildered and benighted'. Beyond a certun limit, 
all is but confusion or conjecture ; so that the advantage 
of the learned over the ignorant consists greatly in having 
ascertained how little is to be known. 

2. "Alas! then, what have I gained by my laborious re- 
searches but a humbliog conviction of my weakness and 
ignorance' ? How little has man, at hb best estate, of which 
to boast 1 What folly in him to glory in his contracted pow- 
ers, or to value himself upon his imperfect acquisitions I" 

3. "Well," exclaimed a young lady, just returned from 
school, " my education is at last finished ! — indeed, it would 
be strange if, after five years' hard application, any thing 
were left incomplete. Happily, my school-days are over 
now, and I have nothing to do bat to ezeroise my varions 

=^-h, Google 


V. DETRACTION. — HoBAOB, by Cebkb. 

"Hie man 'who vilifies an absent friend, 
Or hears him scandalized, and don't defend' ; 
Who, much desiring to be thought a wit, 
Will have hia jest, regardless whom he hit' ; 
Who, what he never saw, prooUims for trae. 
And vends for secrets what he never knew' ; 
Who blabs whste'er is whispered in bis ear, 
And, fond of talk, does all he knows declare' ; — 
That man's a wretch^: — of hira~ be sure" bewara 

n. THE TBULY GBBAT, — Haiiui, bf Watib. 

Milo, forbear to call him bless'd 

lliat only boasts a large estate. 
Should all the treasures of the East 

Meet, and conspire to make him great. 
Let a broad stream with golden sands 

Through all his meadows roll, 
He's but a wretch, with all his lands, 

That wears a narrow souL 

vn. AODBESS TO DEITY, — Bovmna. 

Thou breathest; — and the obedient storm ia still: 

Thou apeakeat ; — silent the submissive wave : 
Man's shattered ship the rushing waters fill ; 

And the hushed billows roll across his grave. 
Sonrcelees and endlesa God I compared with Thee, 

Life ia a shadowy, momentary dream ; 
And time, when viewed through Thy eternity. 

Less than the mote of morning's golden beam. 

(The fonowtne bit of dncrlptlau li verj flue of fts Und, while theUttle indaent 
mentloiiad ftt the close in a prettj lonch ornatara that rlvidl; mtrron forth the 
whole (cene to the ejtoltuicj. ItlBooaotthOBebe&aCIeBofdesciIiitiDiimentlaDed 

The bntterfiy and humble-bee 

Come to the pleasant woods with me; 

=^-h, Google 


Qmckly before me runs the qnai] ; 
Her chickenB skulk behind the rail ; 
High up the lone wood-pigeon sits, 
And the woodpecker pecks, andflite. 
Sweet woodland music sinks and swells ; 
The brooklet rings its tinkling bells ; 
The swarming, insects drone and hum ; 
The partridge beats his throbbing drum. 
The squirrel leaps among the boughs. 
And chatters in his leafy house: 
The oriole flashes by ; and, look t 
Into the mirror of the brook, 
Where the vain bluebird trims his coat, 
Two tiny feathers fall and float. 


1. There was a time when meadow, grove, &nA stream, 

The earth, and every common sight 

To me did seem 

Appareled in celestial light, 

The glory and the freshness of a dream. 

It is not now as it has been of yore; — 

Turn wheresoe'er I may, 

By night or day. 

The things which I have seen I now can see no more. 

2. The clouds that gather round the setting sun 

Do take a sober coloring from an eye 

That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality ; 
Another race hath been, and other palms are won. 
Thanks to the human heart by which we live, 

Thanks to its tendemesSjits joys, and fears, 
To me the meanest flower that blows can give 

Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears. 

by Google 




[Tbe CoDBtUDDon and Lutb an here personlOed, and addreeeed aa The Ship of 


Sail on, ssil on, O Ship of State I 

Sail on, O Union, strong and great ! 

Hnmanity, with all its fears, 

With all the hopes of future years. 

Is hanging hreathlesB on thy fate ! 

We know what Master laid thy keel, 

What Workmen wrought thy ribs of steel, 

Who made each mast, and sail, and rope ; 

What anvils rang, what hammers beat, 

In what a forge and what a beat 

Were forged the anchors of thy hope! 

Fear not each sudden sound and shock — 

Tia of the wave, and not the rock ; 

lis but the flapping of the sail. 

And not a rent made by the gale ! 

In spite of rook, and tempest roar. 

In spite of false lights on the shore. 

Sail OD, nor fear to breast the sea ! 

Our hearts, our hopes, are all with thee. 

Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears. 

Our faith triumphant o'er our fears, 

Are all with thee, are all with thee ! 

n. OUB COtTNTEY. — Qanui. 

We can not honor our country with too deep a reverence^ ; 
we can not love her with au affection too pure and fervent' ; 
we can not serve her with an energy of purpose or a faith- 
fnlness of zeal too steadfast and ardent. And what is onr 
country* ? It is not the East', with her hills and her valleys, 
with her countless sails, and the rocky ramparts of her 
shores'. It is not the North', with ber thousand villages 
and her harvest-home, with her frontiers <rf'the lake and dte 

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ocean. It is not the West', with her forest^ea and her in- 
land ifiles, with her luxuriant expaoBeB, clothed in the ver- 
dant com ; with her beautifnl Ohio, and her verdant Mis- 
souri Nor is it yet the South', opulent in the mimic enow 
of the cotton, in the rich plantations of the rustling cane, 
and in the golden robes of the rice-field. W/iot are these 
hui the sister ftMnilies of ow greats, better, kolierfamiiy,ovK 

m. LOVB OF COCHTBY. — ^Vum Soow. 

1. Breathes there a man with soul so dead, 
Who never to himself hath said, 

ThiB is my own, my native land ? 
Whose heart hath ne'er within him bnm'd. 
As borne his footsteps he hath turn'd 

From wandering on a foreign strand? 

2. If such there breathe, go mark him well : 
For him no minstrel raptures swell; 
High though his titles, proad his name, 
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim; 
Despite those titles, power, and pelf. 
The wretch, concentred all in self, 
Livrag, shall forfeit fair renown. 

And, doubly dying, shall go down 

To the vile dust from whence be sprung. 

Unwept, unbonor'd, and onsung. 


]. There is a land, of every land the pride. 
Beloved by heaven, o'er all the world beside ; 
Where brighter snns dispense serener light. 
And milder moons emparadise the night; 
Aland of beauty, virtue, valor, truth, 
Time-tntor'd age, and love-esalted youth : 
The wandering mariner, whose eye explores 
The wealthiest isles, the most enchanting shores. 
Views not a realm so bountifiil and fair, 
Nor breathes the spirit of a purer air. 

=^-h, Google 


2.-In every clime, the magnet of his soni, 

Tonch'd by remembntDoe, trembles to that pole; 
For ia this land of hcaven*B pecaliar grace. 
The heritage of nature'e noblest race, 
There is a spot of earth supremely hless'd, 
A dearer, sweeter Bpot than all the rest; 
Where man, creation's tyrant, casts aside 
His Bword and sceptre, pageantry and pride, 
While in his soften'd looks benignly blend 
The sire, the sod, the hnsband, tather, friend. 

3. Here woman reigns ; the mother, danghter, vife. 
Strews with iresh Sowers the narrow way of life ; 
In the clear heaven of her delightful eye, 
An angel-guard of loves and graces lie; 
Aronnd her knees domestic duties meet, 
And fireside pleasures gambol at her feet. 
"Where shall that land, that spot-of earth he foxmi^f" 
Art thou a man'? — a patriot'? — look around; 
Oh thou Shalt find, howe'er thy footsteps roam, 
That Iand~ thy cocntby', and that spot" thy bokb^ ! 

V. OtJE CODHntY! 'tis a GLOEIOUS land, — ^W.i.PiBor.11:. 

J . Our country ! — 'tis a glorious land. 

With broad arms stretched from shore to shore ; 

The proud Pacific chafes her strand, 

She hears the. dark Atlantic's roai*; 

. And nurtured on her ample breast 

How many a goodly prospect lies, 

In nature's wildest grandeur dressed. 

Enameled with her loveliest dyes! 

2, Great God ! we thank thee for this homo. 
This bonnteons birthright of the free. 
Where wanderers from afar may come 

And breathe the air of liberty I 
Still may her flowers untrampled spring', 

Her harvests wave, her cities rise ; 

And yet, till time shall fold her wing, 

Remain earth's loveliest paradise ! 




1. Who would sever Freedom's shrine' ? 
Who would draw th' invidious line' ? 
Though, by birth, one spot be mine', 

Dear is all the rest' I 
Dear to me the South's ftur land', 
Dear the central mountmn baud', 
Dear New England's rocky Btrand', 

Dear the prairied West* ! 

2. By our altars pare and free', 
By our law's deep-rooted tree', 
By the Past's dread memory'. 

By our Wasbinqton' 1 — 
By «ur common kindred tongue', 
By our hopes, bright, buoyant, young', 
By the ties of country strong — 

We will Btill be one' ! 

8. Fathers, have ye bled in vud'? 
Ages, must ye droop again' ? 
Makeb 1 shall we rashly stfun 

Blessings sent by Thee' 7 
No I Receive our solemn vow, 
While before Thy throne we bow. 
Ever to maintain, as now. 

Union and Liberty 1 


1. Where is the German's fetherland*? 
Is't PriisBia' ? Swabia' ? Is't the strand 
Where grows the vine, where flows the Rhine' ? 
Is't where the gull skims Baltic's brine' ? 
No : yet more great, and &r more grand 
Must be the German's fatherland I 

2. The poet, after imnilnK, in like manner, throngh five Bnccessiva verses, 
an the great dividoni of the old Germanic Confederation, celebratiiig the 

r:,,r.=^i by Google 


prdwsof each, and receiving, for a]], the tttiiieT^7--''Ho: tbesearei 
the GenuBa'a land," thus proceedi, in tUefollowingtbree verses, in the ti 
love or country and of home, to answer the qoeition, and invidte the ble 
ings of Heaven upon hit/atherta»d. 

3. Wbere, therefore, lies the Grerman'B land' ? 
Name now, at last, that mighty land ! 
Where'er resounds the German tongue — 
Where German hymns to God are sung — 
There\ gallant brother', take thy stand^ 1 
That is the Gennan's fatherland ! 

4. That is his land', the land of lands'. 
Where vows bind less than clasped hands, 
Where valor lights the flashing eye, 
Where love and truth in deep hearts lie. 
And zeal eiikindlee freedom's brand — 
Thai is the German's fatherland I 

5. That is the German's fatherland ! 

Great God I took down and bless that land 1 

And give bernoble children sonls 

To cherish, while existence rolls. 

And love with heart, and aid with hand, 

Their universal fatherland I 

by Google 


Addiwn, jDMpb, 118, 144, 1S6. 






Crates, IIK. 

Colton, Reff. G. C. (" Lacon'0, 193. 

CoUios, William, 843. 

Cotton, NM^ianiel, 78. 

Cowper, Williun, 157, B26. 

Creech, 364. 

Bacon, Pranda, 7S. 


Baxter, ffichard,BII. 

BeiUie, Jamel^ 335. 

Bewmont, 126. 

Bennett, 256. 

Kble, 26, 30, 70, 71, 101, 102, 114, 141, 

181, 162, 167, 168, 192, 2». 
Bliur.Hiigh,43, 143. 
Boordaloae, Loiua, 316. 
Broughun, Lord, 134. 
Bryant, WimamC, 84. 
BulHer,LytIOD, 163,314, 
Burke, Edmnnd, 109, 190, 266, 2G9. 
BnniB, Robert, 212. 

Campbell, Thomu, 322. 
Cani^ng, Hon. George, 178, 
Cupenter, J. E., 77, 119. 
Ctauining, WnUmi SHerj, S2B, 
Cheever, George fiL, 117,287,240. 
Cbestofield, Earl of Stanhope, 96. 
Cicero, Muciu Talliiu, 103, 148, 14S, 

226, 236, 247, 266-7. 
CUmeDl, Samuel L.. 46, 48. 

Dewey, 354. 
Doddridge, Philip, 190. 

Dlyden, John, 336. 

Edettic Stagaiiat, 123. 

Edmburgh Reeiea, 134. 

Ellis, Ura., 144. 

Emmet, Robert, 298-4. 

Eyerett, Ediraid, 108, 110, 216, 219, 21 


Gioethe, John Wolfgang Ton, 78. 
Goldnrnth, Oliver, 29, 199, 313. 
Good, J. Hasan, 138. 
"Greenwood, Grace," 59, 

Hamilton, Bev. B. W., 21S, 
Hayne, CoL Robert H, 2781 
Hazlitt, William, 155. 
Heber, Beginald, 127. 
Herbert, George, 75. 

=^-h, Google 


HolmeB, Oliver W, 120, 186, 203, 894. 

Homer. 183, 

Hope, jimeg Bamm, 847. 

Hopkina, Rev. Dr., 237. 

Hood, Thomu, 67, 200, 859. 

Honce,44,98. Randolph, 86S. 

Hugo, Victor, 47. Rogen, Samuel, SIS. 

Hunt,F[eeiaau,31. Bn^eU, " of Uie TimOt'StS, 

Irving, Washington, 11 G. 

Jeffi^, Lord, 150. 
Jenold, William Donglai, 380, 
Johnson, Dr. Samuel, 15, 166. 
Jonsfm, Ben, 187. 
Juvenal, 854> 

Landon, I. E., 368. 
Lamm Houri, 172. 
Lippiococt, Mrs. 8. J., 69. 
Lloyd, Sobeit, 96. 
Loi^rellow, H. W., S6S. 
Lover, Samuel, IM, 

naaB., 163, 267-8, 276, 
HacHaater, G. H., 67, 
Hat^herton, 136, 217. 
Marvel, Andrev, 360. 
Masnllon, John Baptist, 817. 
Milton, John, US, ISS, 210, 247, 
Moutgotnerf , 242, S6T, 

Noel, Thomas, 66. 

Famell, Thomaa, 116. 
Pieipont, John, 246. 

Pope, Alexander, 154, 191, 211, 328, 331. 
Prior, HaUhew, ISa 
Fnicter, Bryan Waller, 4a 

Saxe, John O., 196. 

Sohefer, 249. 

Scott, Walter, 226, 367. 

ShaJtapeare, William, 97, 100, 101, 115, 

116, 182, 136, 162, 188, 208, 212, 22J, 

233, 242, 267. 
Sheridan, Richard Biinaley, 266-6, 272, 

Sherloek, Kiihop, 209^ 
Smith, Sydnej, 211, 
SoQChey, Boberl, 35^ 
Spencer, Herbert, 248, 
Story, W.W, 884. 

Tennyson, Alfred, 250, 846. 
Thomson, Jamea, 44, 260. 
Tilton, Theodore, 87. 
Todd, Rev. John, 146. 
Tracy, F, P., 66, 
Trench, Archblahop, 85a 



WehBter, Daniel, 72, 135, 2*8, 259, 270, 

280-1, 286, 308. 
White, Hemy KiAe, 217. 
Whitfleld, Rev, Qeoige, 325. 
Willie, KatbanielP,, SSL 
Wilson, ProTeasoT, 144, 
Wirt, WiUiam, 297, 800, 819, 
Wordairorth, Samtiel, 350, 86& 

Young, Edward, 66, 127, 337. 



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